


and they were roommates

by blondeslytherin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), I hate tags, M/M, Slow Burn, honestly they suck, lance is an oblivious human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 02:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeslytherin/pseuds/blondeslytherin
Summary: “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Lance asked.The boy stared back at him, dumbfounded. “This isn’t your apartment, man. It’s mine.”Or: Lance and Keith become accidental roommates when there is a mix up, and they must learn how to live with each other





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, it's been a brick since I posted anything, but anyways, ya girl is back with yet another split perspective AU because I can't seem to write literally anything else. I've tried. It doesn't work. But anyways, here ya go, enjoy

Keith ran a hand over his face, back aching as he climbed the steps up to the eight floor. The damn elevator was broken again, meaning that on top of his busy day as a waiter, he had to climb all 192 steps up to his apartment. Yes, he had counted. It was hard not to subconsciously figure out how many steps you took when the elevator was ‘down for repair’ every other week. It was as he was nearing step 173 that he began to fish out his house keys from his pocket.

His hand was shoved into his jeans as he felt around, only to come up empty. “No, no, please don’t tell me I left them downstairs,” he muttered to himself, feeling a small panic blossom in his chest.

After all his pockets had been thoroughly checked, Keith conceded defeat that he had, yet again, left his keys in the side bag of his motorcycle.

All he wanted was sleep. Maybe some pizza, if he could manage to stay awake long enough to heat it up and eat it before collapsing.

Going down was always much faster than going up, and he was down and back in no time.

Legs burning and sides aching, Keith slipped the key into the lock, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him now that he was home. There was no time for pizza. Only sleep.

The door swung open, and Keith was ready to call out a greeting, when the sight on the couch made him stop dead.

Shiro and Matt, with their hands shoved down each other’s pants, attached at the face.

“Argh!” Keith shouted, and the two leapt away from each other at the sound. Hands were hastily retracted, and Matt landed on his ass on the floor from the force of Shiro removing his appendage.

Shiro looked around with wide eyes, and Matt’s face turned crimson. Keith was staring up at the ceiling, firmly avoiding both of their gazes.

He knew exactly when Shiro finally found what had caused him to lose his hand job, given the pointed huff in the direction of the entry way.

“Knock, please.”

Keith looked down from the ceiling, meeting Shiro’s eyes. A blush was staining his face, but he still managed to look cross. “I don’t have to knock for my own apartment.”

Shiro pulled a face, and opened up his mouth to utter a retort, but Keith held up a hand. “You know what? I’ll knock.”

Matt glanced at Shiro, back down at his pants, and then over at Keith.

That was it. Keith spun on his heel, walking faster than he should have been able to on legs that felt close to collapsing, slamming his bedroom door with a bang.

Groaning, he flopped down onto his bed, burying his face into the squishy pillow. His back slowly adjusted to his new position, and weariness was making his eyelids flutter shut. By now, he really should have been used to it. Nevertheless, it never failed to shock him.

Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow, and Keith would find a new apartment.

~~~

“When are you going to stop mooching off of us, dude?” Hunk asked from his place on the couch, words muffled by the chips he was currently crunching on.

Lance sank his teeth into his lower lip, focus trained on the screen ahead of him. Leaning as his character took a turn on the screen, he ignored Hunk.

“Yeah man, you’ve been here two weeks,” Pidge chimed in, nudging him with her elbow as she, too, stared at the screen. It was enough to jar Lance’s focus, and for the briefest of seconds, his attention turned to the small blonde next to him. Pidge seized the opportunity, throwing a blue shell at Lance on screen, costing him the lead.

Shaking his head, he felt his body moved as Princess Peach moved on screen, leaning left and right as the road curved.

“I’ll do it soon,” he said vaguely, once more back in the lead. Pidge let out a frustrated sound. Lance shifted slightly to the left, away from the tiny human with far too much strength in her arms.

The race finished, with Lance coming in first, Pidge winding up in third. Settling back, he leaned his head against the couch as Pidge went off on her customary rant. No matter what the game was, the speech was the same.

When she was done, Lance tuned back in, just in time to hear Hunk’s next statement.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to move in with her.”

And just like that, Lance’s good mood turned sour.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, feeling his face heat up as he was forced to recall the events that had landed him in his current situation. Oh wow, Lance had never noticed just how fascinating the carpet was.

Running his fingers over it absentmindedly, Lance fought to keep his breathing even.

“Do you have to be so poignant every time you ask me to find a new place?” His voice was supposed to come out strong, composed. Instead, it broke halfway through, leaving the rest of his sentence to be uttered in a high-pitched tone that belonged to a pre-pubescent sixth grader.

He could almost hear as Pidge raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I should be impressed that you used the word ‘poignant’ correctly, or allow you to mope some more.”

“Pidge,” Hunk reprimanded.

Glancing upwards, he saw the pair exchange a glance laden with unsaid words, communicated solely through facial expressions.

“Can the two of you _stop_ with that?” Lance asked.

Four eyes turned to him, and then back to each other.

Lance huffed, turning back to examine the carpet.

Another minute of silence went by, save for the sound of the Mario Kart soundtrack looping in the background.

“So,” Hunk began in a tone that Lance knew was not going to bide well for him. “We’ve decided that we’re going to help you apartment hunt.”

“ _You’ve_ decided?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do I get any say in this at all?”

Pidge mirrored his expression. “Not when you’re staying in our apartment.”

“Yeah man, it’s been over two weeks now. I love you, but you’re eating all of our food.”

Lance put a hand to his chest, only half faking his offence. “I pay for a lot of that food, thank you very much.”

Hunk looked pained. “Do you, though?”

Lance stood up, butt hurting from sitting on the hard floor for so long. “You know what? I will get my own apartment. And you,” he said, jabbing a finger in Pidge’s face, “can’t have any of my food.”

She stared at him, and Lance retracted his finger before it could get bitten. “Now get out of my room, please.” His arms were folded over his chest, and he hoped that he looked serious.

Hunk and Pidge stood up without a word, and Lance ignored the smile that Pidge was struggling to keep off her face.

Once the actual apartment owners left the room, Lance began to hum, blocking out the laughter that had erupted from down the hall.

The pullout couch was easy enough to prepare, and his pillow and blanket were still there from when he had folded them into the couch this morning.

Settling down, glaring at the ceiling, Lance made a vow to himself.

He would never share an apartment with anyone ever again.

~~~

“Coming, Allura!” Lance shouted as he ran down the hall.

People jumped out of his way as he barreled through, giving him aggravated looks that he did his best to return in the .2 seconds he was able to spare.

He skidded to a halt in front of her door, and she looked up at him as he struggled to catch his breath.

“You don’t have to run here every time, you know.”

Lance grinned at her. “Yeah, but this way it makes me seem important.”

Allura rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. “Are you busy this afternoon? Or do you have time to pencil in a lunch with me? I want to go over some figures.”

Lance scratched at his head, thinking. He did have plans, but he could probably still make them even if he did go to lunch with Allura. As long as he made sure that she didn’t talk too much; she was more of a gossip than he was.

She was waiting patiently for him, eyeing him over the rim of her reading glasses. “I’ve got time,” he said finally.

Her answering smile was blinding, and Lance knew that lunch was going to run long. Fuck. It probably wouldn’t be a huge deal if he saw the apartment late, right?

~~~

Allura was scanning the menu, and Lance was staring absentmindedly out at the passing people. Scarves were beginning to appear once again as summer drifted into fall. It was still too warm to dress fully for autumn, but Lance caught sight of more than one pair of boots.

People watching was one of his favorite things to do. Sometimes it was the little things that made him laugh, like someone walking into a pole because of staring down at their cellphones. But most of the time, he liked seeing the faces that people made when they thought no one was watching, lost in the conversations in their head. Maybe they were replaying something that they had said to someone else, or playing out what they wanted to say to someone in the future. Lance liked to fill in the details based on each person.

One woman’s face was screwed up in anger, hands shaking by her sides. Lance imagined that she had just come from a fight, one that she had lost if the shaking hands were anything to go by.

An elderly man was strolling along, a pleasant look on his face, but Lance watched closely as he walked by their table on the patio of the café. A newspaper was tucked under his arm, and he seemed wistful. Reminiscent, almost. Possibly remembering a time that he took this exact same walk with a long-ago lover.

“Lance,” Allura said gently, and he looked up to find a waiter staring expectantly down at them.

He blinked once, drawing himself out of his thoughts, and listed off his order. Lance focused pointedly down at his menu, ignoring the devastatingly handsome man not even 6 inches from him.

Allura gave her order as well, smiling up at him as she handed back their plastic menus.

“He was cute,” she stage whispered across the table before the waiter was fully out of earshot. Lance locked eyes with her, trying to communicate like Pidge and Hunk did to tell her to _shut the fuck up._

It didn’t seem to work, as she casually said, “You should ask for his number.”

Lance swallowed down the emotion that was building up in his throat.

“Thanks, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” Just like that, her face fell, and a mixed look of guilt pity overtook her pretty features.

“Right,” she said, a faint accent in her voice. Lance loved Allura, he really did, but she wasn’t always the subtlest.

“Anyways,” she said, changing the topic rather abruptly, for which he was grateful. “You should come work with us full time.”

Like he said, Allura was not the subtlest. This is something that she had brought up often with him, and every time, his answer remained the same. And yet, he kept going out to lunch with her for this exact conversation every Saturday, like clockwork.

“Allura, you know this is just an internship. After this, I do plan on going elsewhere. Seeing the world.”

“The job will still be open,” she said, twirling her drink straw around with her finger.

It was the same script, over and over. An endless loop that only made Lance more eager to decline.

“Allura.”

Her pretty face turned down to a pout, and she turned her eyes out to the passing street crowd.

“I never understood the appeal of people watching,” she murmured after a beat.

Lance smiled. “You always did prefer the stars, anyway.”

“Stars will never leave you,” she responded, and they lapsed into silence. Lance wasn’t the only one with a broken heart.

They idly chatted as they waited for their food, talking about work politics among other things, talk of romance and job offers long forgotten. After the people watching, this was Lance’s favorite part of their weekly lunches.

“And apparently, Zarkon got caught with Honerva in the bathroom _again_!” Lance winced. If he had been keeping track correctly, that was the third time. This week.

Allura nodded, expressing her disgust as well. “If I didn’t like my job so much, I would have reported him a long time ago.”

Lance nodded, not really hearing her words. Their waiter had come out onto the patio, and his hair had been swept back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. There was a forced smile on his face, and Lance had the sudden urge to do whatever it took to see a real smile out of the boy.

Shaking his head, he forced the pretty waiter from his mind. He must not have been quick enough, as Allura sent him a quick wink over her cherry soda. He rolled his eyes, and gave her a knowing look. She narrowed her own eyes, shaking her head just slightly. Two could play at this game.

Several plates of food were set down gracefully on their table, and Lance breathed in deeply.

The waiter muttered something that Lance didn’t catch, and then departed. He watched the boy go, admiring the way that the jeans shaped his ass nicely.

“God, you ought to walk around with a sign on your forehead that says ‘I’m bi, come hit on me!’” Allura said around a mouthful of Caesar salad.

“Excuse you, I do the hitting on.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Lance gasped at her, before throwing a wadded-up napkin at the dark-skinned woman.

She threw it back, and they continued to toss it at each other until the waiter had to come back to ask them to stop. The blush on Lance’s face definitely wasn’t from getting reprimanded. Far from it, in fact.

They finished their lunch, which Allura paid for this time. Lance saw her scribbling something on the napkin, but she cupped her hand around it to block his view. It was probably an apology, anyways. Those Brits, so damn polite.

Glancing down at his watch, his heart dropped to the floor when he realized what time it was. He was five minutes late, but the apartment and the realtor were right around the corner. If he ran…

“Gotta go, bye!” he shouted at Allura, who looked up just in time to see Lance dart through the open door and nearly run into their waiter.

Allura huffed at his retreating figure. He would thank her for this later, she already knew it.

~~~

When Keith awoke, he was lying face down on his pillow, back still aching. He shot up, drinking in fresh air. There was sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the blinds, meaning that he had spent all night with his face buried in the pillow, breathing in the same carbon dioxide for eight hours. His head was pounding, his eyes burning. Last night was a disaster, through and through.

He could smell bacon being cooked, and he was simultaneously joyful and annoyed. The only time Shiro voluntarily made bacon was when he was trying to use food as an apology. His old girlfriend had been a vegetarian, and Shiro had adopted much of her food preferences. He never gave up meat entirely, but suddenly steak was no longer his favorite thing. Matt was still working on reversing that.

Keith was still in the clothes he wore home from work yesterday, so he swapped them out for an old t-shirt that hung to his thighs and some fresh boxers. It was early; appearances were far from priority.

Matt was perched on one of the three barstools at the counter, even though the space was only big enough to fit two comfortably. But with Keith and Matt both being as slim as they were, they made it work. He nodded at Keith when Keith came padding into the kitchen, annoyance forgotten as he drank in the delicious scent filling the small space. Bacon truly was the way to Keith’s heart.

Coffee was slowly dripping into the half full pitcher, which was soon greatly reduced after Keith had poured himself a cup.

Shiro and Matt struck up a conversation, and Keith watched the couple interact. Shiro was always so much calmer around Matt, that much was true. After Shiro came back from Afghanistan missing an arm, Matt was with him every step of the way. They experienced the horrors first hand together, and had clicked from the very first moment that they had met. Matt understood the nightmares that sent Shiro into a spiral, and Shiro knew what to do when Matt couldn’t calm down from a panic attack. War had changed both of them, and they came back different people. War had forced them to grow closer, and now you couldn’t even picture one without the other.

It was always bitter sweet for Keith to be around them. He loved Shiro more than he cared to admit, and all that he had done for him. There was a time that he would have liked to be in Matt’s place, but that was long gone. No, it was bitter sweet because Keith knew he could never have something like they had, as much as he wished for it.

Shaking his head, he drew himself back to the present, away from the nagging thoughts that never seemed to fully leave.

Shiro was just serving up the bacon, and Keith snagged a piece straight from the pan, dodging the hand that Shiro shot out to shoo him away.

He snickered as he crunched down, watching Shiro with a careful eye. The boy was faster than lightning when he chose to be.

Settling back onto the stool with four pieces of bacon loaded onto a napkin, he ate all of the first piece and half of the second before he gave his big announcement.

“So,” he began, watching as both Shiro and Matt stilled. “I’m moving out.”

There was a beat of silence before Shiro let out a big whoop, and Matt broke into a grin. “Finally!” Shiro cheered, maneuvering out from behind the counter to wrap Matt in a hug.

“Don’t have to act so disappointed,” Keith muttered, more than just a little stung.

Shiro must have heard him, for he quickly dropped Matt in favor of wrapping Keith in a bear hug.

“I’m just so happy,” he sobbed into a mop of black hair as Keith struggled for air.

Pushing back against a firm chest that could have been mistaken for marble, Keith sucked in air when he was finally free. Shiro was beaming down at him, tears in his eyes.

“My baby’s all grown up,” he said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

Keith scowled. “Don’t get sappy. It doesn’t fit you.”

Shiro just gave him a watery smile. Matt had stood up and dusted himself off, glaring at the back of Shiro’s head.

“Does this mean you’ll actually knock now?” the blond asked, to which Keith muttered something about knocking with his foot and Shiro just raised an eyebrow.

There was some more conversation about what kind of place Keith was looking for, what his estimated price range was, and a whole slew of other things.

“I have no idea,” Keith said for the fifth time, feeling more and more frustrated by the minute. Yeah, apartment hunting was hard, but it shouldn’t be nearly this complicated.

Shiro pulled a face, and was about to comment, when an alarm rang. It was coming from Keith’s room, and he spared a glance at the clock before breaking out in a full panic.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He snagged one last piece of bacon off the plate before darting away to his room to get dressed, before bolting out the door. If he was lucky, he would make it to his shift on time. If he wasn’t… he didn’t want to get shit from Lotor again. The man’s obscene crush on him was bad enough.

A few more months and he would be done with this shit ass job. It was the mantra that kept him going through the shifts that felt like they would suffocate him, and the fact that he needed the money was a pretty good incentive as well.

Soon. Soon, and he would be exactly where he wanted to be.

The café wasn’t far from where he currently lived, one of the many reasons why he had been reluctant to stop living with Shiro and Matt. Even though he had only recently decided that he was going to move out, he had been eyeing listings for a while now. And there was nothing even remotely in the area that he wanted to be in.

Wind rushed in his ears as he took sharp corners, feeling the power of the engine underneath his palms. Such raw power, such untamed energy. Keith felt more at home on his bike than he felt anywhere else.

His hair was adequately fluffed when he took off his helmet that he didn’t think that anyone would notice that he neglected to shower.

Well, anyone who wasn’t Lotor wouldn’t notice.

The man perked up as soon as he heard the bell till, a light tinkling sound that made Keith want to rip it from its spot above the door and crush it under his heel.

A grin slowly forms on his face as he takes Keith in, and screw wanting to destroy the bell. He would gladly crush Lotor underfoot.

The silver haired man glances at his wrist watch, and then back up at Keith. “Barely made it, babe. I was worried there for a second.”

Keith bristles at the pet name. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” Lotor purrs, coming around the divider to face Keith fully. “Do you prefer kitten better? Or maybe darling? Whatever you want, as long as I can call you mine.”

“I’m not yours.”

“Mm, that’s not what you were saying last night.”

Lotor’s breath is hot in his ear as he bends down, and Keith can’t help the shudder that runs down his spine.

“If you’re referring to what you dreamt about, I can assure you, nothing happened in real life.”

“What a shame.”

Keith shoves past him, tying his hair up in a small bun at the base of his neck. It’s something that Lotor hates, and Keith makes sure that the taller man sees him do it.

“Oh, how I hate policy.”

Keith grins, but there’s no humor in it. “Really? I find it’s a great defense against pervs.” He’s close enough to the door that he’s able to duck through before Lotor has time to snap at him.

God. Whatever forces in the universe created Lotor deserve to rot in hell.

He’s snagging his apron off the hook when Thace simply points at the patio. Fuck. Not only is he late, he doesn’t even have time to _breathe_ before he has to begin.

Luckily, it’s only a young couple out there. He can handle that.

The woman is pretty, tall with dark skin and silver hair. There is no way that it’s natural, but it suits her so well that it would be impossible to imagine her with anything but that color. She’s laughing at something her companion says, and Keith feels that same clench in his heart as he gazes at them.

Her boyfriend, or Keith assumes he’s her boyfriend, is gazing at her in a similar lovesick manner, head cocked to the side with a faint smile pulling at his lips. Tan skin compliments a chestnut head of hair, catching the light as he leans forward.

The man turns at that moment, and Keith catches sight of the most startling pair of blue eyes he has ever seen. Air leaves his lungs like a lover leaves a train station with a broken heart, and it’s all he can do to keep from pitching over.

Someone bumps into him, jolting him back to reality.

He’s moving without even realizing it, acting on autopilot as he makes his way over to their table.

The man is now staring off into the distance, blue eyes trained on something that Keith can’t identify.

His hand moves absentmindedly over paper as the woman gives her drink order. Keith is trying very, very hard to regain his focus and reconnect with the world, but for the life of him, he can’t tear his eyes away.

The woman kicks the tan guy under the table, and he doesn’t move.

She does it again, while hissing, “Lance.”

A chord is struck within Keith at the revelation of his name, and he has to take a step away.

The bright blue eyes look up again, and land briefly on Keith. In an instant, they are gone again, trained on the plastic menu in front of him.

His voice is lifeless as he lists off his order, unfeeling as he passes the sheet of glass substitute back to his girlfriend, who passes it back to Keith.

She gives him an apologetic shrug, and Keith backs away.

More customers have entered the patio in the few minutes that he spent with them, and Keith makes the rounds as the boy called Lance slowly leaves his mind.

For a couple, the silver haired woman and Lance don’t seem all that in love with each other. Once, he even has to tell them to stop throwing a napkin back and forth. The blush on Lance’s face is almost enough to make Keith burst out in his own laughter. The poor guy looked mortified.

Keith isn’t on the patio when they depart; he only hears as Lance bolts through the café in his haste to leave. Was the date really that bad?

The woman left the receipt on the table, and he barely glances at it when he picks it up. Tucking it away, he clears the table, going through the cycle, until he reaches the start of his break.

A total of twenty tables in two hours. And only a fraction total of tips that he should have received.

Lance’s receipt is at the bottom of the pile, the pair being the first ones that he served. He’s ready to put them all in today’s folder when a smudge of black ink catches his eye.

It’s a phone number. Oh. _Oh_.

His heart speeds up. What will Lotor do if he sees this? He can’t exactly not turn in the receipt, and if he scratches it out, Lotor will know for sure that there was something there. A phone number, of all things.

He’s tempted to call the number, just to see which one of them left it. But if it was the woman, he didn’t want to give her false hope.

Nope. He had to shut that train of thought down right now. It was stupid, a gut reaction. When someone did something like that, the natural instinct was to want to call them. It meant nothing.

There was no room for a relationship, let alone the desire for one. Yeah, it had been awhile since he had gotten some. That didn’t mean he wanted to go through the process of letting someone in, letting them be near him long enough. Everyone left eventually, and right now, he didn’t want to deal with that.

But there was still the issue of what to do with the receipt. Keith bit his lip, thinking.

If there was one thing Lotor fawned after more than Keith, it was flattery. When you lie through your teeth about it, he only seemed to like it more.

Stuffing the receipt into his apron, he schooled his face into neutrality before going to find Lotor.

He was in his office, scribbling something on a piece of paper.

Keith leaned against the doorframe, and launched right into his bullshit story about the woman seeing Lotor and leaving her phone number for him.

His shit eating grin only grew as Keith spun lie after lie, and Keith fought to keep a straight face. How this idiot was buying this was beyond him.

“But anyways, here it is,” he said finally, fishing out the receipt and tossing it at his boss.

He knew that he should have felt bad as he walked away, leaving Lotor to go to town with a new-found prize. But if it kept him off of Keith’s back, there was no pity in his heart for the poor soul who chose to leave their number. It was Keith, after all. Who would be interested in _him_?

~~~

Lance wandered through the apartment, the realtor droning on about what the bills each month would be like, what kind of activity this place got, as well as other things that Lance should care about but really didn’t.

The minute that he had mentioned moving out, and Hunk and Pidge had come back with a realtor on the phone.

“It’s 1 in the morning,” he had hissed at them even as he took the phone.

“He said I could call him at any time!” Pidge hissed back.

“I don’t think he meant that you could call him at _1 in the morning_!”

But by 2 am, Lance had an official real estate agent, and an appointment to view an apartment.

It was a single bedroom, with a spacious living room and a nice kitchen. There was a small deck that looked out onto a communal garden, and an east facing window in the master bedroom.

In a word, it was perfect.

The realtor was saying something, and Lance tuned in just in time to hear the very end of his statement.

“…if you’re alright with that, the apartment is yours.”

“Done,” he said. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to say no and risk losing out on this place.

The realtor raised both eyebrows in surprise, staring at him in a brief moment of shock before recovering and holding out a hand.

“Well, then, Mr. McClain, I believe there is paperwork that we must attend to now.”

Lance followed him back out to the living room, feeling a pit of anxiety begin to form in his stomach.

Whatever he had just agreed to, it couldn’t be that bad. Right?

~~~

Three days after his big announcement, and a notification had popped up on his phone.

_We found a match_! It read.

Keith swiped his phone open, tapping out his pass code.

Scanning over the details, he read it three times to make sure that he had opened the right page. An apartment, within his price range, a five-minute walk from work. It was perfect.

His first instinct was to shout for Shiro. But Keith paused, and then hit the button to set up a meeting. He was being independent. Moving on with his life. Shiro could know later, if he actually ended up getting this apartment.

The iPhone binged again, alerting him to what time the meeting was. Which was… twenty minutes from now.

Shit. The apartment was a twenty-minute ride from Shiro’s. Meaning, once more, he would have to leave without showering. Would they deny him the apartment if he smelled bad? Probably.

But it didn’t matter, not to Keith. Something was telling him that it would be fine.

~~~

Keith took one look at the apartment before making his decision. “I’ll take it.”

The realtor paused in his speech. “You haven’t even been inside.”

“I’ll take it,” Keith repeated, much more firmly this time.

“What about the conditions?”

Keith hesitated. It wasn’t the most optimal living situation, but he could make it work. “I’ll take it,” he said for a third time.

“Well then, Mr. Kogane, looks like you just got yourself an apartment.”

~~~

Lance’s thumb stalled over the key on his phone that would call Allura. Could he really ask her to help him with this?

Screw it. If she said no, she said no. He tapped the screen, and the phone began to dial.

It rang twice before she picked up, offering a cheery greeting.

“Hey, so I was wondering if maybe you could help me move?”

Silence echoed over the phone. The moment stretched on, and then a faint cough was heard.

“I’m sorry Lance, I can’t. I’m really sick.”

“Bullshit.”

Another cough, and an obviously fake sniffle. “Maybe some other time?”

A beat of silence from Lance this time. “Yeah sure, I’m moving every other week so it’s all good.”

“I’m really sorry, Lance.”

Lance’s anger melted away. She did sound really sorry, and it was hard to stay mad at Allura.

“Yeah it’s cool. I’ll just talk to you tomorrow?”

“Bye, Lance.”

“Bye.”

The click that signaled the connection had been cut sounded, and Lance dropped back onto the couch.

Pidge was sitting next to him, one hand buried in a bag of chips and the other griping her phone firmly in her hand.

“No luck?”

Lance sighed. “You know, as eager as you seem to be for me to move out, you really aren’t helping that much.”

“Nu uh, don’t try to guilt trip me. I came to your rescue when you called me at three in the morning to help you move your shit last time. I did my duty already.” Lance bit back the urge to laugh at her word choice.

“How long are you going to lord that over me?”

“For as long as I can,” she replied, words muffled by salt and vinegar chips.

Leaning his head back, he stared up at the ceiling that he had memorized by now. If he was ever presented with a test on what his best friends’ ceiling looked like, he would ace it.

“How much do you even have?” Pidge asked, looking up from her screen for the first time in an hour.

Lance shrugged. “Like I don’t know, eight boxes maybe?”

She squinted. “I feel like that is not an accurate approximation.”

“There’s more at my office.”

“Yup, knew it.”

“Will you please just help me?”

“Nope, lover boy. You’re on your own.”

That would be how Lance ended up with a suitcase full of his clothes in one hand, the keys to his new apartment still in the lock, staring down the boy with the mullet.

~~~

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

The boy stared back at him, dumbfounded. “This isn’t your apartment, man. It’s mine.”

Lance could have sworn that his jaw was _this close_ to dislocating as he gaped even wider. “Listen _dude_ ,” he shot back, mocking the other boy’s use of _man_ , “you need to follow the eviction notice.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed, and Lance knew that he had screwed up. Shit. This guy looked like the type of person who would knife him without hesitation.

“I’ll have you know that this is my apartment, which I signed the contract for two days ago, and I will now be living here. So kindly, shut the fuck up and get the hell out.” His tone was menacing and low, and everything in Lance screamed at him to run away and find a new apartment, but this was just too perfect to pass up.

Lance folded his arms over his chest. “Ding dong, you’re wrong.”

The stranger just stared at him, and Lance began to panic. And when he panicked, he talked. A lot.

“What’s your name, anyways? I’d like to know who I need to file a police report against.”

“It’s Keith. And let me guess, you’re the idiot who doesn’t read contracts all the way through?”

Lance felt his face heat up, but refused to let the blow get to him.

“I’ll have you know that I did in fact read my contract all the way through, and it never once mentioned having to kick out some homeless guy.”

“If anyone is about to be homeless, it’s you, dumbass. And you just proved yourself wrong.”

Without even realizing it, the pair had closed the distance until they were almost nose to nose. Or, well, nose to chest. Lance towered a good few inches over the stranger, so Lance’s nose was level to his mullet.

“Oh yeah? How?”

Lance was playing with fire, and he knew it. But he never was good when it came to confrontation.

“Since you obviously didn’t read it very thoroughly, if you can read at all, your contract on this apartment clearly states that you will be sharing it with a roommate. Me.”

They were close enough that Lance could see violet encircling black. It wasn’t like any color he had seen before, and the air in Lance’s lungs just disappeared with the snap of a finger. The blood left his head, and all he could do was stare.

“Are you going to answer?” his apparent roommate asked.

“Nope,” Lance replied, continuing to stare.

A firm hand was braced on his chest and he was shoved backwards. He was so caught off guard that Lance stumbled back, and did not manage to catch his balance before landing firmly on his ass.

“This has to be a mistake!” Lance called from his spot on the floor as he watched the stranger with the violet eyes disappear into the bedroom. How the fuck were you supposed to share an apartment when there was only one bedroom?

“No mistake!” the guy calls back, and the sound of slamming drawers follows. Evidently, he finds what he’s looking for, and comes back with a stack of papers in hand.

Lance is still sitting on the floor, staring up at him.

“Here,” the boy with violet eyes says, thrusting the papers at him. “Read it. Or, actually, let me read it to you, since you obviously can’t read yourself.”

“I can read, thank you very much,” Lance huffs, taking the documents before they are snatched away. He’s humiliated enough; he doesn’t need to be read to.

A glance at the bottom of the first page reveals the guy's full name. Keith Kogane. Why does that sound familiar?

“Uh, which page am I supposed to be reading?” Lance asks hesitantly as he thumbs through the stack of papers.

“Page four,” the man called Keith responds, once more disappearing into the bedroom.

Lance flips to the designated page, and quickly scans over it. His horror and dismay grow by the minute as he reads and rereads the whole page.

“‘I hereby agree that I will share an apartment with whomever the realtor agrees that I will share it with.’ You actually read and then _agreed_ to this shit?”

“I don’t mind having a roommate if it means I can afford this place,” Keith says with a shrug, coming back out of the bedroom.

“Well I do!” Lance fires back, and then immediately feels guilty when he sees that Keith is actually stung by his comment. There’s a certain stiffness in his shoulders that makes Lance reconsider his earlier thought. Maybe not a knifing type of guy, but the dude totally has an axe buried somewhere in one of his boxes.

Keith opens his mouth to say something, but evidently decides not to as he shuts his jaw with a snap and disappears back into the bedroom again.

“Stop doing that!” Lance shouts after him. “I’m trying to talk to you here!”

“And I’m trying not to talk to you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Lance waits for Keith to come back out, and when he doesn’t, Lance finally stands up from the floor. Dusting his ass off, he makes his way over to the bedroom to find out why, pray tell, Keith finds the room more interesting than having a conversation with his new roommate.

Instead of the barren room that Lance viewed a week previous, a single bed is set up in the corner with a wooden dresser propped up against the opposite wall. A nightstand is next to the bed, but other than that, the room is shockingly empty.

“How long have you been moving your crap in?” Lance asks, checking to see if anything else has been put in.

“All morning. And for the record, I am completely unpacked.”

Lance raises an eyebrow, and Keith shifts from foot to foot.

“Shit dude, this is it? Where are the posters? The family pictures?”

“That’s none of your business,” Keith snaps. Lance cocks a grin. There is a way under his skin after all.

“Really? I think it is my business, roomie.”

“Listen,” Keith’s voice is firm, and Lance takes a step back. “I didn’t want a roommate any more than you did, and I certainly did not want to live with someone like you. Just leave me alone.”

Lance takes another step back, hurt by his tone, and more than hurt by his words. He just met the guy, and already wants to never see him again.

“Harsh, man. Harsh. I’ll call the realtor and tell him you want out.”

Lance is halfway out of the room when the words finally seem to register with Keith. “Uh, I think you better tell him that _you_ want out.”

He pauses. “No, no, I was fairly certain you wanted out. ‘I didn’t want a roommate in the first place’,” he mocks, watching as Keith bristles with anger.

“You’re not even quoting me correctly. And also, that contract is legally binding. You can’t get out of it any more than I can.”

He snorts. “Watch me.”

Two minutes and sixteen seconds later Lance throws his phone down onto the carpeted floor. “So apparently, the contract is legally binding?”

Keith huffs from his position on his bed. “Told you.”

Lance crosses his arms, feeling more and more ticked off by the guy that should not be nearly as handsome as he is.

“Well now what?”

“We each get a lawyer,” Keith says with a shrug. “Figure out which of us moves out of the apartment, and which of us has to pay to end the contract.”

“Well, fine,” Lance says after a moment, not wanting to admit how solid of a plan that is. “What do we do for tonight?”

Keith squints at him. “You go back to wherever the hell you came from, and I’ll stay here.”

“Mm, no can do compadre. Do you know how much shit I’d get if I went back to my friends’ place right after I told them I was leaving for good? Besides, all my crap is already here,” Lance finishes, sweeping his arm around to gesture at all the boxes now strewn about the apartment.

“And so is mine.” Keith matches his display all the way down to Lance’s tone of voice, and Lance has never been so simultaneously turned on and infuriated.

“Well I’m not leaving.”

“Neither am I.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Lance walks the few steps over to the bed, throwing himself on it. If Keith wants it this way, he’s gonna get it this way.

“What are you doing?” comes the muffled words.

“Not leaving.”

Keith is fidgeting underneath Lance, and Lance only presses himself down firmer onto the bed and Keith. Something sharp pokes into his side, and Lance yelps as he launches off of Keith.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Don’t touch me,” Keith growls.

“Done, done. Definitely can do that.”

Neither of them move from where Lance is still pressed up against Keith’s thigh.

The bedroom is dark, the sun having set more than an hour ago. Lance yawns, and Keith follows suit.

“In the morning, we both call a lawyer, and one of us moves out?”

“That’s the plan.”

Neither one of them speaks as Lance slowly drifts off to sleep, and Keith quickly follows suit. In the morning, they’ll deal with it. But for now, a bed that’s just a little too small is just what both of them need.

~~~

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

Keith looks up from where he had previously been unpacking a box, only to find a familiar face staring at him with startling blue eyes, suitcase in hand and jaw unhinged.

Oh no. His realtor had said that he was surprised that the other guy agreed to have a roommate, but he didn’t think that his new roommate would be completely unaware of their new living situation.

Well if he wasn’t aware… Keith could have some fun with this. “This isn’t your apartment, man. It’s mine.”

That would be how Keith ended up having to dig out his contract stating that yes, this apartment was his, and yes, they were actually in fact roommates under a contract.

The boy he recognized to be Lance was still staring up at him with a dumbfounded expression from the floor.

“I don’t mind having a roommate,” he says with a small shrug. It wouldn’t be anything new. After being bumped from foster house to foster house, being forced to share a room with several other pre-teen and teen guys, and then finally moving in with Shiro, Keith never had a place to himself. It almost would have been weird for him to live without someone. Not that he would have minded the peace and quiet, of course. But it would have been different.

“Well I do!” Lance fires back, and it stings more than Keith cares to admit.

He wants to say something back, something along the lines of not wanting to share a place with such a douchebag, but he snaps his mouth shut instead, favoring silence over a biting retort.

He spins on his heel, disappearing back into the bedroom. Keith could hear Lance get up and start to follow him, and he was tempted to slam the door in his face.

“Stop that! I’m trying to talk to you here!”

“And I’m trying not to talk to you.”

Lance appears in the doorway, looking flushed. There’s a nice pink tint to Lance’s tan skin that makes him look younger, and Keith has the fleeting desire to know if Lance looks that flushed even when he’s just woken up. He stomps that desire down, crushing it into a ball and throwing it into the trash, which he then lights on fire.

The tan skinned boy takes a long look around, and then turns his attention back to Keith.

A few questions later, and Keith has convinced Lance to call the realtor, just to prove him wrong.

He watches as the sun sets, starting the process of shrouding the room in darkness. A lamp was just one of the many things on his list of household items to purchase that he had not even touched. Meaning, that once the sun was gone, so was the only light in the apartment.

Lance comes back, looking entirely too frustrated, and Keith can’t help but feel just a little smug. The pinkness on his cheeks is only getting worse, and Keith has to swallow twice before he can speak properly.

“Well now what?”

So, Keith explains what any logical headed human would do in this situation, and Lance nods along like they’re on the same page. All the way up until where Keith tells him to go back to whatever hell hole he came from. A mistake on Keith’s part, he’ll admit that, mainly because it ends with Keith being crushed under Lance as the taller boy wiggles on top of him.

It’s more of Keith’s panic that Lance might realize exactly how _okay_ Keith is with this position change that forces him to shove Lance away.

That would be how they both fall asleep, curled up on this too small bed, with Keith’s breathing way too fast to be considered natural.

In the morning, he’d find a new apartment. One without an annoyingly handsome roommate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith's first week of living together goes just about as well as you'd expect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey dudes how ya doing? Sorry it took kinda long to get this chapter out and written, but here it is. Enjoy :) Disclaimer: I use an obnoxious amount of italics because in my mind Lance even THINKS in dramatic fashion.

Keith was the first to awake, lost in a tangle of limbs with no idea how he had gotten there. His heart sped up as he struggled to recall what events had occurred to put him in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar boy in an unfamiliar place.

Bit by bit, the night came back to him, as well as the room. It was his dresser that was the first thing to make it actually click in his mind. It’s not an unfamiliar place if his dresser is where it always is, on the opposite side of the wall from his bed.

The body, however… Keith is still having trouble piecing that one together. A mop of chestnut hair is splayed over his chest, an arm curled around his side. They’re both fully dressed, meaning that there is only one possible conclusion. He is cuddling with his new roommate.

Keith’s first instinct is to leap away, and get as far as possible from the lanky boy. But acting on his fight or flight instinct would mean waking Lance, and Keith already knew that he wasn’t a morning person. There were some people that you just _knew_ they would not hesitate to bite the hand that woke them, and Lance more than definitely gave off that vibe.

As carefully as he could, Keith began the process of slithering out from under Lance’s arm and head, all without waking him. It was slow going, and Keith held his breath every time Lance shifted on top of him.

Keith was nearly out when Lance took a deep breath, rolled over, and promptly fell of the bed.

He landed with a loud thump, a sound that made Keith cringe, and then immediately bust out in laughter over.

“What the fuck!” came from the floor below, still carrying the sleepy undertones of someone who was just rudely awoken.

A head popped up, two bloodshot blue eyes roving around until they landed on Keith. Lance blinked twice, and then narrowed his eyes.

“Why the fuck would you push me off the bed?”

It was Keith’s turn to narrow his eyes. He opened his mouth to explain that Lance had rolled off the bed all on his own, but Lance held up a hand.

“Nope, you pushed me off the bed. There is no excuse.” Keith was left with his mouth open, staring at this idiot through a squint.

Lance was heaving himself up off the floor, grunting as he did so. When he stood all the way up, he immediately bent backwards, hands braced on the part of his thighs just below his ass. Keith was forced to watch as Lance’s back made a horrible popping sound, cracking in at least eight different places. Straightening, Lance then twisted side to side, cracking the rest of his spine, oblivious to the way Keith cringed at the sound.

“How—”

“Hush,” Lance said, holding up a hand. “You do not get to talk to me after you pushed me off the bed.”

By this point, Keith is fuming. If he were in a cartoon, there would be steam coming out of his ears, and his head would explode a moment later. Lance, the prick, seems completely oblivious to Keith’s current state, as he turns in a circle to examine the room.

There are two doors, one leading to the closet, and the other, a bathroom. Lance looks between the two, and Keith tracks his head movements. He’s waiting with bated breath to see the idiot choose the wrong door, and the embarrassment that follows it. _Let Lance be the one uncomfortable in this situation. He’s the one that was cuddling me after all._

It’s just his luck that Lance correctly chooses the bathroom on the first try, and Keith is left to seethe on the bed. He knows that logically, there is no reason for him to be this mad. But there is something about his new roommate that just gets under his skin like no one else has before. Not even Gary, who liked to pick his nose when Keith was sleeping and drop it into his hair. Keith hadn’t lived in that foster home for very long.

The door clicks shut behind Lance as he disappears to do God knows what, and Keith is left alone in his bedroom. Their bedroom, actually.

As much as Keith claimed that he really didn’t mind having a roommate, he had been looking forward to the peace and quiet, the solitude of it all.

The paperwork that the realtor had given Keith explained who Lance was, that he was a college student with stellar grades, interning at the local observatory. On paper, Lance had seemed like the perfect roommate. In person, however, Lance was quickly proving that he was the exact opposite.

Keith flopped back on the bed, still warm from the two bodies that had occupied it all night long. There was a faint scent that was unusual, but not unpleasant. A part of him was tempted to sniff it to get a better whiff, but the logical part of his brain told him exactly how fucking creepy that would be. Especially if Lance caught him in the act.

Weariness was pulling at his eyelids once more, and Keith settled down even further. He was so close to sleep when a loud blast of music sent him shooting upright, looking at the bathroom door in a panic.

Heavy bass combined with a near screeching sound was pouring out of the closed door, and he could hear the faint sounds of someone moving around in there.

A low growl was building in his throat.

“Turn that the fuck down!” Keith shouted.

The music stopped, and Keith sighed in relief. And then Lance poked his head out of the door, locked eyes with Keith, and simply said, “No.” The bathroom door was shut once more, the music returning to an even louder volume, the sounds of things crashing amplified.

Keith got up from the bed, his own back protesting the movements, and banged on the wooden door which currently, was the only thing separating Keith’s hands from Lance’s neck.

Once more, the music stopped abruptly, and the lock clicked once, revealing the disheveled head of Lance.

“What?” he asked in a bored tone, as if Keith was an annoying flea that just wouldn’t leave him alone. He supposed he was, in a way.

“Turn down the music or so help me I will find a way to permanently turn it down,” Keith said in a low voice.

Lance’s eyes widened just a fraction, before nodding once and vanishing yet again. This time, when the music began, it was at a much lower volume, so low that Keith had to press his ear up against the door to make out the lyrics. Thank God.

Groaning, Keith rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. If there was any hope in his heart that it would go well with Lance—that they would work it out civilly and tolerate each other until a decision was made—it was gone now. How his last roommates had lived with him, Keith had no idea. Maybe that was why he couldn’t go back to the place he came from last night. They were just as sick of him as Keith was.

He could hear Shiro nagging at him in the back of his mind as he rooted through the empty cupboards. _Buy groceries ahead of time, Keith! Don’t live off of takeout, Keith!_

_Yeah, well, fuck off, Shiro_ , Keith thought at the Shiro in his head. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, real Shiro would hear him as well.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him of the current predicament at hand. Cabinet after cabinet, empty space after empty space. For a fleeting moment, Keith thinks he sees a cracker in the back of one of the pantries, but he blinks and it’s gone. He is way too hungry.

The music is slowly growing louder, but it’s still soft enough that Keith doesn’t mind it. The sound, that is. Lance’s choice in music is terrible.

There are still several boxes around the living room that haven’t been touched, and Keith wonders if Lance has food hidden in there. But rifling through someone else’s belongings is a line that Keith refuses to cross, his own things having been rifled through far too many times. It’s a trust factor; and Lance certainly doesn’t have Keith’s trust.

What he would do for a cup of coffee right about now. He still has about an hour until his shift, more than enough time to grab a quick shower and then swing by the coffee shop around the corner that he always wanted to try but never had the time to.

Lance is still doing who knows what in the bathroom, leaving Keith to stare at the kitchen blankly. It’s plain, simple. Nothing worthy of capturing his interest for more than a passing second.

He hadn’t been lying last night: all of his stuff was unpacked. There was a lot that he needed to buy, meaning that the initial unpacking was very minimal. From what Keith could tell, Lance had every single possession he had ever owned stacked up in boxes in the living room. He counted eight stacked up, and that was just the front row. It was really going to suck for Lance to have to move all of this stuff out when it came time for him to leave.

If it even was Lance that had to leave. Legally, one of them signed the contract on the apartment first, meaning that they had claim to it. And Keith was almost positive that it wasn’t him.

The one apartment in his price range, location, and with everything that he was looking for, and he was about to lose it to a dunce who thought Fifth Harmony was good music.

Keith sighed, resting his head in his hands. There wasn’t much that he could do. It was the powerlessness that frustrated him. For so long, things had been out of his control. That was supposed to change when he became an adult, when he could make his own decisions. Nothing had changed.

Keith heard, rather than saw, Lance come out of the bathroom. A distinct sound of a lock turning, then feet on wood, making slight sticking sounds as Lance padded into the kitchen.

Looking up, Keith was ready to snap at him once again, when he caught sight of Lance. Lance, with his hair mussed up in a way that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but seemed to suit Lance, big black glasses framing his face. The slight pink tint to his cheeks is still there, only getting pinker as Lance continues to look at Keith.

“Your face is pink,” Keith comments, freezing when he realizes what just came out of his mouth.

“Your hair is stupid,” Lance mutters back, but it’s lacking the malice of last night, or even this morning. The pink tint has changed into a light red, almost looking unnatural on his tan cheeks.

Keith opens his mouth to say something more, but what do you say to someone you just insulted? Someone you barely know, for that matter.

So Keith says nothing, only watching as Lance goes through the same process he did, opening and closing all the cabinets with a record of three full rotations before closing the final one with a huff.

“There is literally nothing here,” Lance complains, looking towards Keith. Ah, there is the malice he wasn’t missing at all.

Keith scoffs. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “You know who Sherlock is? And here I was thinking you were some cryptid living under a rock!”

Keith stares at him, contemplating just how bad an aggravated assault charge would be. What the fuck is wrong with this dude?

“Are you always this awful?” comes out of his mouth instead, and Lance’s cocky grin falters.

It’s a moment before he answers. “Has your hair always been that bad?” His words are missing the sting that Keith delivered his with, the insult almost tentative.

Keith touches a hand to his hair, frowning slightly. “Are all your insults based around my hair?”

“Don’t worry, sugar. I have plenty more.” It’s almost flirtatious, if you examined the words by themselves. But paired with the malice evident in Lance’s face, Keith knows he means anything but what his words imply.

Rage, rage from their awful morning and every awful moment since Keith saw Lance at the café this morning is building up inside of him, reaching a boiling point. There is nothing Keith would like more than to sink a fist into that perfect smile.

Lance seems to sense his rage as well, as he takes a step forward. A challenge. _Come at me_ , he seems to say. _Let me see what you’re made of._

Keith wants to rise to the challenge, to take the bait that Lance is dangling in front of him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because he knows that will piss of Lance more than any words could. One action for a thousand words.

He’s turning on his heel, walking back towards the bedroom and subsequently the bathroom, when he hears Lance spluttering behind him.

Keith pauses for long enough to hold up a hand and say, “Hush. You do not get to talk to me after I woke up to you cuddling me.”

The dark-haired boy barely makes it to the bathroom before breaking out in laughter.

~~~

_Cuddling_? Did mullet head just accuse him of _cuddling_? No, he must have heard him wrong. Lancey Lance does not cuddle. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, of course. But Lance doesn’t _cuddle_.

He can hear the laughter coming from the bathroom, and he desperately wants to go over there and knock on the door and demand that Keith turns down his laughter, like Keith did to Lance.

This morning could not be going any worse.

First, he slept the _whole_ night with his contacts in his eyes. The whole night. Not only did he have to throw away that set of contacts (and contacts are fucking expensive), his eyes are dry and they burn.

Second, he is rudely awoken by being thrown to the floor. By the guy that he thought he had come to an agreement with, to at least be civil with each other until one of them moved out. There is no better way to nip a budding friendship in the ass than to throw one person off the bed, rather than spend another minute trying to kindly wake them.

Third, half is products are missing. He can’t find shit, and Hunk’s disappointed look comes back to him. Yeah, maybe he should have labeled boxes, but he was out of that place in a hurry, okay?

And finally, _Keith_. His entire being is just pissing Lance off. He doesn’t know if it’s his god-awful hair (mullets went out before Keith was even born, why does he even have one?), or if it’s the ‘don’t come near me or I’ll stab you’ vibe that Keith puts off. Either way, just looking at Keith’s stupid face has Lance flushed and annoyed. And maybe something else that he is absolutely not addressing.

Lance runs a hand through his hair, reminding him of yet another thing to add to the shit list that is his morning.

Not only is he out of conditioner, he’s out of the only dry shampoo that won’t make your hair look like someone dumped an entire can of hair spray on your hair. And with mullet head in the bathroom, Lance won’t have time to take a full shower, meaning that he’s going to stay in this state for the rest of the day. He doesn’t even want to know what Allura’s reaction is going to be when he walks in looking like a hot mess. Even with the big coffee fiasco of summer 2017, Lance still managed to not look like, well, _this_.

He can hear the shower running, and his annoyance only grows. Keith is probably going to use all the hot water trying to tame that stupid hair of his. _God, get it together, Lance. His hair is bad, yeah, but why are you still thinking about it?_

At this point, he’s not even sure he’ll have time for coffee before work. It’s a Sunday, meaning that he’s at the observatory from 10 until 3, and the clock above the stove reads ten till nine. His internship consists mainly of paperwork, something that Lance dregs through so that he can get the credit required to get his degree. And then he’ll be doing what Allura does, all over the world. Anywhere but here, really.

Where even are his clothes? He hasn’t seen his suitcase since he deposited it in the entryway upon being faced with Keith, and it’s not there anymore. Oh shit. Did he accidentally leave the door open, letting someone steal it?

Lance groaned. With how his morning has been going, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had in fact stolen his suitcase full of clothes.

It took him five minutes to sweep the apartment, and determine that yes, in fact he had left his suitcase where anyone could take it.

_Please be there, please be there, please be there_ , he thought silently as he undid the deadbolt and unlocked the door.

As if some God high above had heard his prayers, his suitcase was right there on the doormat, a note stuck to the top of his Avengers luggage.

“Your clothes are shit,” he read aloud, and then frowned. Someone had stolen his clothes… and then given them back because they were _that_ bad? Wow. _Someone_ clearly didn’t have any taste what so ever.

He pulled it through the door, noting as it felt suspiciously lighter than before. Lance was still frowning down at his suitcase when Keith came out of the bedroom.

Lance looked up as he padded into the living room, and his heart nearly stopped. Keith had nothing but a thin towel slung low around his hips, a single hand the only thing keeping the flimsy thing up. Wet hair was slicked back, and Lance caught sight of a stunning pair of violet eyes that he was not aware existed. The guy may be a prick, but Lance knew to appreciate a body when he saw one. Especially one like that.

Muscles rippled on Keith’s stomach, and what Lance thought were thin arms at first glance turned out to be quite muscled arms. Very muscled indeed. His throat was suddenly very dry, and Lance refused to clear it lest Keith catch him staring. Not that he was staring. Lance just happened to be looking over in that direction when Keith appeared, and was still just happening to be looking that way. Nothing more than happenstance, at all.

If Keith felt the eyes on his back, he gave no indication. He found what he was looking for (a rumpled black t-shirt and some dark grey jeans), and made his way back to the bedroom. He scowled when he caught sight of Lance, and Lance scowled back on instinct. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong. This morning was all Keith’s fault.

With the bedroom door clicking shut behind Keith’s retreating figure, Lance looked down at his too light suitcase. The note said his clothes were shit, but something told him that the thief didn’t ignore the value of the clothes.

Lance was rooting through his clothes when Keith came back out, dressed and wet hair tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck. _I feel like I know that look from somewhere._

Keith looked down at the mess Lance was currently pawing through, and Lance felt his face heat up. Did Keith think his clothes were shit, too? _Why do I care what the mullet thinks?_ Lance wondered, feeling quite perplexed.

“Looking for something specific?” Keith asked, still staring down at the even bigger mess Lance was making on the floor.

“It was stolen, and I was checking to see if my clothes were all still here.”

Keith closed the distance, knocking the corner of the plastic with the toe of his boot.

“I’m surprised they didn’t take more,” he said, and Lance felt something stir in his chest. Keith didn’t think his clothes were shit after all. _Again, why does his opinion matter to me? I’m never going to see the guy after a couple of days._

Lance knew that the other boy was speaking, and tuned in just in time to catch the last two words of his sentence. Which gave him absolutely no indication of what the rest of Keith’s words had been.

A dark head nodded, and then Keith was heading for the door.

He was already gone when Lance realized that he should have called out to him, a parting insult. Something in his gut told him that whatever Keith had said to him contained an insult _somewhere_ in there, and Lance should have retaliated.

Cursing, he stared at the shut wooden door for a moment longer before standing up, knees popping.

There was still the matter of making himself half decent, given that he had no time to shower, let alone do his whole skin care routine.

Lance groaned. It wasn’t possible that this morning could get any worse.

~~~

He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, and picked up his pace. If he didn’t do his normal people watching, he could still swing by the coffee shop on the corner before heading to the observatory.

Lance looked left and right before crossing the street, and still ended up getting a horn honked at him. He turned up his nose in that direction, and purposefully slowed his pace. The car honked again, and he heard the tell-tale sounds of an engine revving and once more picked up his pace. Getting hit by a car was not part of the morning routine. Just because it happened once does not mean that it needs to be a regular occurrence.

The coffee shop was packed when he walked in, the after-church rush just flooding in. A line snaked around the small place, and Lance begrudgingly took his spot at the end of it. Luckily, this place was renowned for moving quickly, and in no time Lance had his pumpkin spice latte clutched between his hands as he blew on it to cool it down.

Even though he told himself that he would cut out people watching from his morning, he couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered around the petite shop.

People in all sizes and ethnicities loitered around, some flipping through the Sunday paper, others chatting quietly with the men and women sitting next to them. Lance was so caught up in scanning that he nearly missed it, and then gave himself whiplash as he turned back to view the unfolding scene.

Keith, standing at the counter, chatting with the barista. He’d only known him for less than 24 hours, but he’d know that atrocious hair anywhere.

He was shifting from foot to foot, clutching a to-go cup so tightly that Lance was eagerly waiting for it to pop open and spill coffee everywhere. That would certainly be karma enough for this morning.

But the coffee never popped open, and the barista leaned forward, laughing at something Keith said, as Lance watched on, utterly confused. It wasn’t what was happening that confused Lance, but more the fact that Keith did not seem to be _getting_ it.

He was as still as a statue, never moving, and Lance knew that there was probably some dumb expression on his face, even though his back was to him. The way that he was holding himself, so stiff, that Lance knew he was not leaving with a phone number.

The barista seemed to be realizing this as well, as he leaned away. Lance saw the way his face shifted, changing from hopeful to dejected with the snap of a finger. Or, rather, the revelation of the dumbness of a certain mullet head.

Keith backed away, and Lance finally managed to catch a glimpse of his face. Oblivion. Pure oblivion was etched into the lines, as Keith had no idea what had just happened throughout that entire conversation. Lance groaned inwardly. What an idiot.

“Keith!” Lance called out, and this time, Keith’s coffee cup actually did pop, and coffee sprayed in every direction. Lance watched, horror steadily growing, as Keith’s face shifted from surprise to outrage, as he located the source of his fright.

Lance wanted to shrink into the plush chair he was sitting in as Keith stalked over, making Lance wish that he had never called out his name in the first place.

“What the fuck do you want? Are you stalking me?” Keith growled as he came into earshot.

Horror was replaced by annoyance as Lance rolled his eyes. The smaller boy may look frightening from far away, but Lance grew up with four siblings. He was used to this.

“Chill out, dude. I’m not stalking you, this is where I always am. They have the best, and cheapest, coffee around. I’m here like, every weekend. It’s not my fault you haven’t noticed me before.”

Keith rolled his own eyes. “I would have remembered you if you were worth remembering.”

“Ouch dude,” Lance replied, masking his actual hurt with sarcasm.

Silence fell over the pair as Keith fumed over his now soaked clothes, and Lance was still trying to find a way to let Keith gently know that the barista was flirting with him.

It seemed that he didn’t have to find something to prove his statement with, as said barista came rushing over and fussing over Keith.

The pale boy’s cheeks became a dull pink, and back again was the stiff posture. Lance watched once more, feeling like an intruder on the scene but not wanting to get up and walk away. Usually, attention wasn’t bad, but this wasn’t a situation where he wanted multiple pairs of eyes on him.

A full five minutes passed before the barista left, and Keith was left a flaming red.

Lance cocked an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look.

“I don’t like to be touched,” Keith muttered, still not relaxing. Oh. Not quite the response that Lance was expecting, but he could work with it.

And by work with it, Lance completely ignored it, barreling straight ahead with engines smoking. No one could stop Lance McClain when it came to match-making.

“He was totally into you, dude. You should ask him out.”

Keith’s blush went from uncomfortable to embarrassed in the snap of a finger.

“No, he’s not.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Lance looked pointedly back at the counter where the barista was sneaking glances at a particular black-haired boy, and gave a small smile to the pair when Keith’s attention turned to him as well.

“Nope, definitely not.”

_How fucking clueless can you get?_ Lance thought with a huff. Alright, plan B.

“What do I have to do to get you to go out on a date with that guy?”

Keith looked to him in surprise, eyes narrowing a moment later in suspicion.

“I am not going to be bought into going on a date.”

“Then go out with him on your own volition.”

Keith continued to stare at Lance, and Lance began to fidget in his seat. _Who said his eyes got to be so intense? Not fair!_ He looked back once at the barista, and then a final time at Lance.

“You really think he’ll say yes?”

The tan skinned boy fought back a grin as he nodded his head.

A moment more of hesitation, and then the shorter of the two was walking, right up to the counter.

His back was to Lance, but the barista’s wasn’t. He watched, knowing exactly what Keith was saying based on the way his face changed. Surprise, doubt, and then joy. Pure joy.

Something clenched in his gut, and Lance looked down at himself in surprise before quickly looking back up when he realized how stupid that must seem to an outsider.

_What the fuck was that feeling?_

His roommate was still talking to the barista, who was happily making him another drink.

He should be happy. Lance was the one who told Keith to ask him out. For fucks sake, he had only met the guy two days ago. So why did the feeling in his gut point to jealousy?

~~~

Keith left the coffee shop with a small wave to Lance, feeling strangely light. The barista had responded in the exact way Lance told him he would, and had even given him a replacement coffee. For the first time in God-knows-how-long, Keith had a date on Friday. And to be honest, he was excited. Genuinely, truly, excited. It was a strange feeling.

Even with his clothes still damp and coffee scented, there was a slight spring to his step as he walked into the café, ready to begin his shift.

Lotor looked up when he entered, a glint sparking in his eye.

“You’re early.”

Keith glanced down at his watch, and realized that he was in fact early. Oh fucking shit. Being early meant bad things. Very bad things.

“You know what being early means,” Lotor purred, coming out from behind his desk as Keith tightened his hand on his coffee.

“It means I get to leave early?” Keith ventured, edging towards the kitchen door.

Lotor titled his head. “No, darling, you know what it means.”

Keith pretended to think for a moment before answering. “I get extra pay?” _Halfway there_.

The taller man prowled forward still, walking on near silent feet. _Why does he walk like a cat?_ Keith thought distractedly, before mentally shaking his head and bringing himself back to the present. Focus.

If Lotor knew what Keith was doing, he didn’t give any indication. _Now if he could hook his thumb under there… got it._

Five feet, max. The glint in his eyes had begun to turn hungry, and Keith steeled himself.

“I know how much you love being early,” he purrs, “and you know just how much I love it.”

“I need Friday off, I’m going on a date,” Keith says, and Lotor stops cold, just like Keith knew he would.

“You’re what?” It’s a threat; never before had one been so clear.

Keith shrugs. “I said, I’m going on a date. And I need the night off.”

“I don’t think so, you little—” Lotor lunges, just as Keith stumbles, popping the top the rest of the way off as he pitches forward.

The world blurs to slow motion as the coffee flies through the air, Lotor’s eyes going wide just before the hot liquid meets its target. The door clicks open, something that Keith hadn’t predicted, but he makes quick use of the opportunity. Darting through, he shuts it with a snap behind him, jimmying the handle to trap Lotor and whoever the unlucky soul is in Lotor’s office. They’d be in there for a while; he did the same thing to the other door.

_What a waste of coffee_ , he thinks bitterly, before heading to the nearest washroom. Got to get the stink of desperation and predator out of his skin before the customers notice.

He could be fired for this, and never before has Keith given less of a shit as he washes his hands. He could, but he won’t. There were two reasons for that, and Keith despised both of them with the bottom of his soul.

The airiness that he walked in here with was long gone, and Keith knew that the day was only going to get worse. After all, he had to go home to that pretentious dickhead.

His mind reminded him of what that pretentious dickhead had done for him this morning, and Keith felt slightly guilty. Maybe he wasn’t half bad…

But it didn’t matter. Because by the end of the week, Lance would be out of his place, out of his hair, out of his life. He could wake up peacefully, without awful music threatening to ruin his hearing, and actually see the counter of his bathroom. So why did that make him feel even worse?

~~~

Lance stepped wearily into the elevator of his building, pressing the button for the eight floor.

In the time it took him to get all the way up, he sneezed a total of twelve times.

The ceiling had finally caved in on the old west wing of the observatory, and Lance had happened to be under it at _just_ the right moment so that he was the only one who managed to get covered in eighteen years’ worth of dust.

Coran had rounded the corner to find Lance standing there, staring down in shock at his papers and hands now coated with a thick layer of gray.

The director was the one to get Lance moving again, not realizing that his silence was from fury, not shock.

Of all days, it was today that the ceiling had finally decided to call a quits. Not to mention that one more day, and Lance would have won the betting pool. Now, Plaxum had all of the prize winnings, leaving Lance out of a hundred dollars.

“Achoo!” His head was thrown forward with the force of the sneeze, effectively headbutting the door to his apartment. Great. Just fucking great. He was not only covered in dust, dirt, and whatever else had been growing up there, he might have a minor concussion. A nasty bump at the very least.

There was no way today could get any worse.

Lance quickly realized that yes, any day can get worse after that sentence even enters your mind.

1\. The hot water was out.

2\. There were no clean towels.

3\. There was still no food in the apartment.

4\. He was going to lose his mind.

Shivering and tired, Lance plopped down onto the sofa. It had come with the apartment, thank heavens for small blessings, and was worn but comfortable.

It was a mess. His life. His job. School. The apartment he now had to share with a monster of a person.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Keith wasn’t a monster; this morning had proven it. The morning that began _after_ they had both left the apartment.

But Keith wasn’t a normal human being either. Normal humans responded calmly to waking up in bed with someone that they didn’t quite recognize. Most would be thrilled to be waking up to someone as attractive as Lance, even if they were both fully clothed.

Normal humans could tell when someone was flirting with them. Normal humans didn’t get jealous when they set someone they barely know up with a local barista. Normal humans would just move the fuck out and forget that they had ever met the boy with violet eyes.

Violet and violent. That was Keith. Violet and violent, a hidden dagger aimed in the shadows, glinting purple as it delves into your heart.

Lance sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Spouting angsty poems about your new roommate was definitely a sign that he really needed to go the fuck to bed.

As comfortable as the couch was for sitting, it would not be so comfortable for sleeping. With his height, the couch stretched form his head to the backs of his knees. Speaking from experience, it was never a good idea to sleep when you are completely hunched over.

There was always the bed. Keith’s bed.

Would the mullet mind if Lance took a nap there? If he woke up before his roommate got back, then Keith would never know, and Lance would have a pleasant nap.

Besides, if Keith wanted to nap, he was short enough that he would fit on the couch like a hand in a glove.

Lance considered for a moment longer, weighing the pros and cons. The con list was significantly longer, but the way his eyelids drooped was truly the deciding factor. He had gotten attacked by a vehement ceiling—Keith had scored date today. A coating of dust versus a plan for Friday night that is sure to end in sex, and Lance wins.

Dragging his stiff body up, he padded the short way to the bedroom, noticing the way that the only sound in the apartment was the sound of his feet moving over the wood floor.

Too quiet. Far too quiet. Quiet meant being alone with your thoughts, and being alone with your thoughts meant no sleep. Lance needed sleep.

Setting his phone up on the bedside table that Keith had put up, he began the playlist titled ‘sleep’. The soft sounds of waves filled the small bedroom, and Lance instantly relaxed.

The bed was squishier than he remembered it being, and Lance sank in. Given the way that Keith well, was, it would have been assumed that the bed would be rock hard. Instead, it was softer than a feather, sinking to cup Lance in a warm embrace. _This bed is literally perfect_.

He was drifting off, the thoughts still there but not important enough to keep him from sleep, but there was one that managed to snag his attention at the last possible moment: the vow that he had made.

But if having a roommate meant access to a bed like this, Lance supposed that he could live with someone for a little while longer.

~~~

Keith came home, shaking. Shaking from anger, shaking from fear.

Lotor had been hell to deal with when he finally escaped his office.

Eight years of mixed martial arts had taught Keith to wait for his opponent to strike first, and then hit harder, faster than them.

And strike first, Lotor certainly did.

A verbal onslaught to end all verbal onslaughts, followed by an ‘accidental’ pitcher of water dumped over his head.

Keith was ready to spit fire from his mouth when Lotor was moving out the door, and into the kitchen.

His office didn’t live to see the light of day.

There were a few lines that Keith would never cross, one of them being the center of a public scene. Lotor was all too aware of Keith’s lines, and had no issue sticking his ass out and shitting all over them.

The bastard decided to actually _work_ today. Him, the boss with the shiny silver hair who had vowed to never get his hands dirty with what he called ‘pedestrian filth’ was out waiting tables. Hair tied back, apron on, pen in hand as he laughed with a bright-haired woman.

It was a power move, and Keith knew that his retaliation would come later.

He supposed that he deserved it. He knew exactly what he was doing when he threw that coffee all over him, knew exactly what he was doing when he asked for Friday night off.

Keith deserved exactly what he got in life.

Foster parent after foster parent had told him that as they loaded him into the back of the social worker’s car, red in the face and steam coming out of their ears.

_You deserve exactly what you get in life._ The time they sent him off after he bit another kid for taking the picture under his pillow and ripping it in half.

_You deserve exactly what you get in life._ The time that he was hustled into Jodie’s car in the dark of night, after he caught someone who didn’t belong in the bedroom with Mrs. Jones.

_You deserve exactly what you get in life._ His mind when he found out that he was forced to live with the boy with startling blue eyes, and a blush that could rival the sky just after sunset.

Keith supposed that he also deserved to come home and find that said boy was asleep in his bed, drooling all over his pillow.

Normally, he wasn’t one for confrontation. But today, he had had enough.

Dropping his bag onto the floor with a loud _thump_ , Keith waited for the noise to rouse the idiot. When Lance didn’t stir, Keith picked up his bag again, and repeated the action. This time, Lance shifted in his bed, but did not wake up.

A growl was building in his throat as he considered what to do next. He could repay Lance for the stunt he pulled last night when he jumped on him, but as strong as Keith was, he didn’t possess the same amount of body mass that Lance did, rendering the action completely ineffective. He settled for the next best thing.

Lance’s phone was sitting unlocked on the bedside table, Spotify open and waiting. Looking back to make sure that Lance was fully asleep and not faking, Keith gingerly picked up the waiting noise box.

_Give him a taste of his own medicine_ , a voice whispered in the back of his head, and Keith allowed himself a small, malevolent smile as he scrolled through Lance’s playlists.

He located the one from this morning—the one with Gasolina on it—and turned the volume all the way up before pressing play.

It was loud, loud enough that Keith flinched back and nearly dropped the phone. His finger was still hovering over the bottom of the two buttons, the one to turn it down, but he didn’t push it. He only held the phone nearer to Lance, who bolted up in the bed a moment later.

Wide, frantic eyes looked around in a panic, before settling on Keith. Lance looked so unaware of what was going on that Keith felt a smidge of guilt. But only for a moment, as Lance then flopped right back down onto the bed.

“What time is it?” came the muffled question. Lance’s face was currently buried in the pillow—Keith’s pillow—barely distinguishable over the music.

Keith turned it down before answering. “It’s nine in the evening, you fucking douche.”

Once more, Lance shot upright, eyes apologetic rather than panicked.

“Oh, shit dude, are you serious?”

Keith just stared at him, arms crossed.

Lance ran a hand through his already mussed up hair, causing several strands to stick straight up. Keith had the sudden urge to flatten them, but he smothered down that urge and curled his hands into fists instead.

Lance was still talking. “I had such a rough day at my internship today, and I really only meant to take a nap, I didn’t mean to sleep this long, I’m so sorry but your bed is just so comfy, I’ll get out, oh my god, I drooled on your pillow I’ll replace that dude I’m so sorry.” He was rambling, words coming out in a rush as he gestured wildly with his arms.

As he was finishing up his rushed apology, Lance was climbing out of bed, pulling on the black glasses that he had left next to a glass of water.

He looked so tired and guilty that Keith felt his anger ebbing away, bit by bit. Lance seemed genuinely sorry, and Keith realized that he didn’t mind that much that Lance had taken a nap in his bed. They had both seen the couch; Keith could barely fit on it, let alone Lance.

Those blue eyes of his were focused on Keith, and he fought the urge to shrink back from the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, Keith was the one to break the silence.

“Why don’t you take the bed tonight?”

Lance arched an eyebrow in surprise, before glancing at the bed for a fraction of a second.

“Are you…sure?”

Keith sighed. Yeah, his day had been shitty and all he wanted to do was curl up in his own bed and sleep the night away, but they both knew that Lance wouldn’t fit on the couch. And it sounded like Lance had had a pretty shitty day, as well. Keith could manage on the couch for tonight. He didn’t have work tomorrow, so he could just take a nap during the day to make up for the sleep he was about to lose tonight.

“Yeah, just take it.”

Lance scratched at his head, hesitating. There was obviously something waiting on the tip of his tongue, and the longer time stretched on, the more tempted Keith became to just scream, _spit it out already, you ass_.

“We could always share the bed, you know.”

Nope, not at all what Keith was expecting. It must have shown on his face as well, for Lance quickly backtracked. “In a totally non-romantic way! Just like we did last night, you know. There’s only one bed, and it makes sense and…” he trailed off, face once more that beautiful shade of pink.

A far corner of Keith’s mind screamed at him to take it, take it and run it with, even if nothing happens except waking up next to this wonder of a human.

But a larger part of Keith’s mind, the rational part, told him that he needed to sleep on the couch, for both of their sakes.

Shaking his head, he looked down at the floor so that he wouldn’t have to see Lance’s expression.

“I’m going out with Rolo on Friday. It’d be a little weird for me to share a bed with you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Lance said softly, and Keith felt something shift in his stomach area. The fuck was that?

He looked back up, and met Lance’s eyes. There was something in his expression that he couldn’t quite read, a sense of resignation, almost. That same sensation stirred in his gut, and he began to back away towards the door.

Muttering a soft goodnight, Keith made his way over to the couch, flopping down onto it after changing into a pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt.

Staring up at the ceiling, he thought back on how his day had gone. It had been shitty with Lotor, that much was true, and this morning could have gone so much better. But above it all, there was something about the moments with Lance that didn’t seem so bad. Almost pleasant, even when they were bickering.

Keith groaned as he rolled over, burying his nose in the fabric folds of the faded sofa. No more thoughts. Thoughts were bad.

The gentle sounds of waves crashing came from the bedroom, and before he knew it, Keith could feel himself drifting away into the dark abyss of sleep.

~~~

“Lance, for heaven’s sake, put your goddamn dishes in the fucking dishwasher.”

The music that was coming from the bedroom abruptly shut off, and Lance stuck his head out of the door.

“Keith, for heaven’s sake, pick up your goddamn socks and put them in the fucking hamper.”

Keith scowled, and looked down at the kitchen floor. Just like he had thought, there was a random pile of socks lounging on the wooden floor.

He wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Lance had shot back with that insult so quickly, and even more annoyed with the fact that he knew Lance wasn’t going to put his dishes in the dishwasher. Just like Keith wouldn’t end up picking up his socks.

It was day three of living with Lance, and Keith had found himself becoming more and more casual around him.

Once they got over their initial two days with each other, it was surprisingly easy to fall into a routine with the tan skinned boy. And other than his loud music, Lance was witty enough to get Keith out of his slumps, and shockingly smooth. Keith actually found himself _liking_ the roommate he had only set out to tolerate.

It was easy enough to live with Lance, but he knew it would be over soon. Just last night, he had set up an appointment with his lawyer to find a way out of his contract, and Lance had told him he had done the same thing. They would settle who got to stay in the apartment, and then they would never see each other again. Simple. Clean. And yet that feeling lingered in his stomach.

~~~

It was Thursday, the only day the three of them were able to meet up for coffee. Lance sat on one side of their table, Hunk and Pidge facing him. The latter was typing away at her laptop while Hunk sipped at his tea, listening attentively as Lance rambled on.

“He’s not even all that hard to live with, once I got past that awful hair. I mean, who even has a _mullet_ these days? They were never in style to begin with!”

Hunk nodded along, but Lance knew his attention was fixated elsewhere. Or rather, fixated on a certain brunette.

He paused in his speech about Keith to glance over his shoulder at the barista Hunk was eyeing. When he turned back, Hunk was staring at him with wide doe eyes, making him look like a deer caught in headlights.

“The telecommunication thing you do with Pidge doesn’t work with me, and you know that buddy. I was subtle, calm down.” Hunk’s eyes narrowed a fraction closer to what they normally were. Good. “Just ask Shay out already.”

“I can’t just do that! She’ll think I’m weird!”

Lance stared at his friend, exasperated. Hunk was adorable, but just a tiny bit clueless when it came to the female gender.

“Trust me, okay? I set Keith up with someone just a few days ago in this very coffee shop.”

Something like realization dawned in Hunk’s eyes, and even Pidge looked up from her computer.

Lance looked at the two of them, eyes sliding back and forth.

“What?” he asked when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. He was missing something, he was sure of it.

Hunk was gaping at him, and Pidge was wearing the expression that went along with the phrase, “Lance, you’re an idiot.”

“What?” he repeated, growing slightly anxious and a little peeved that they wouldn’t tell him. Finally, Hunk shook his head, like he was surfacing from a dream, and Pidge turned back to whatever she was working on.

“Nothing, man. Just forget about it.” Hunk said it with an easy tone, but it did nothing to alleviate Lance’s feeling that the two of them had just realized something that might not be exactly true.

“Okay,” Lance said, stretching the y out. “But anyways,” he said, reverting back to what he was saying earlier, “I know for sure she’ll say yes. Just make a move!”

Hunk nodded, focusing fully on Lance. “You know what? I think I will.”

Lance beamed. “Great! Now you can finally go back to paying attention to me!” Hunk snorted, but said nothing. Lance took that as a sign to forge ahead.

“For one thing, he leaves his socks. All. Over. The. Place. And he never even picks them up when I ask! And then he yells at me about dishes. _ME._ But he let me crash in his bed one night, so I guess he’s okay.”

Lance didn’t see the way Hunk raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Pidge, he was so focused on the depths of his coffee.

“You’ll only be with him for a couple more days, buddy. Did you get the lawyer I recommended to you?”

Lance nodded, still staring at his coffee as if the left-over grains in the bottom of the cup were going to tell him his future.

“Yeah, I guess I will,” he said with no small amount of resignation.

Hunk and Pidge exchanged another look over Lance’s head.

_He really is clueless, isn’t he_? came from Hunk.

_Sometimes I want to program some sense into him while he sleeps_ , came from Pidge.

Hunk snorted, just as Lance looked back up.

“Would you two _please stop that_.”

~~~

Keith tugged at the collar of his shirt, uncomfortable with the way it felt against his neck. He was meeting Rolo in a half an hour for their date, and Keith had never felt more awkward in his life.

His shirt was starch, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to take it off and find it standing up on its own.

Keith heard the tell-tale signs of keys in a lock, and turned away from the mirror a moment before Lance appeared in the bedroom.

His tan-skinned roommate gave him a once over, and then turned back to Keith with a look of questioning on his face.

“Uh… what are you wearing?”

Keith looked down at himself. A black polo with his black jeans, and brown leather boots. Looked fine to him.

“Nope, you are changing right now.”

Keith scowled, and opened his mouth to object to the sudden intrusion on his closet, when two firm hands gripped his shoulders and the words disappeared right out of his mouth.

_Woah_. Something stirred in his gut, lower than his stomach.

He stood, frozen in the middle of the bedroom as Lance rooted through his dresser. He could faintly hear a stream of rejection coming out of Lance’s mouth, but all he could do was stare at his roommate’s ass that was right out there on display as Lance bent over. It took a considerable amount of willpower to tear his eyes away before Lance could catch him looking.

_Get it together, Keith_.

Lance seemed to find something that he found acceptable, and held it up in front of Keith for a final inspection. Keith shifted from foot to foot, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the intensity of the gaze, and prayed that Lance would make a decision soon.

A shirt was tossed at Keith, who caught it with his face.

“Put that on,” Lance commanded, and Keith grumbled slightly as he made his way back to their matchbox sized bathroom.

He came out a moment later, new shirt on and feeling considerably more comfortable, much to his surprise. It was a worn, but soft, band shirt, just loose enough that it wasn’t constricting him but not loose enough that he felt like he was swimming in the fabric. How had he skipped over this earlier?

“Perfect,” commented Lance, who was sporting a small grin. “Not too causal, not too stuffy. And now for the shoes.”

They spent far too much time perfecting Keith’s outfit, and the nerves that he had felt earlier had completely disappeared. Being around Lance was… easy. Easy, and almost pleasant now.

The doorbell rang, startling both of them into silence.

Keith stood up from the couch, making his way over and peering through the peephole.

“It’s Rolo,” he said, stating the obvious. Lance hadn’t moved, or even made a sound.

Keith turned back once towards the couch, only to find Lance observing him. There was an expression on his face that Keith couldn’t place, and didn’t have time to figure out.

“Well… bye,” he said, shifting.

“Bye,” Lance murmured, still watching him. The gaze was sending pinpricks down Keith’s spine, and he quickly opened and moved through the door to their apartment, shutting it behind him.

Shaking whatever that feeling was off, he smiled up at Rolo, who held a hand out. Tonight was going to be good.

~~~

Lance watched as Keith vanished through the door, the lock making a faint click that barely registered in his mind.

Something was lingering in the depths of his mind, something that he knew he could reach for and take a hold of, if only he stretched his arm. But for now, he let the thought float, knowing that it would resurface in due time. For now, Lance only stared at the door where the boy with violet eyes went through, wishing that he was still next to him, laughing with the laugh that made Lance forget about all else.

_What was with him and angsty poetry lately?_

~~~

They arrived at the restaurant, and Keith was still walking with stiff steps. Rolo was giving him odd looks, but not saying anything.

He could hear Lance in his mind telling him to relax, and enjoy himself.

Not until they were both sitting down at the table did Keith relax in the slightest. It was dinner. Dinner was easy.

Rolo was saying something, and Keith laughed at a joke that he said. Rolo smiled, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks, and Keith relaxed even further. Yeah, tonight would be fun.

“So, what’s your star sign?”

Keith looked up abruptly from the menu. “My what now?”

“Your star sign, you know, your zodiac.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, a sudden sense of dread creeping up on him. “Uh, I don’t know.”

Rolo sighed. “Okay, well what’s your birthday?”

“October 23,” Keith answered hesitantly, knowing that this was about to be very bad indeed.

Rolo winced. “Scorpio, then. I’m a Gemini, and generally speaking, we are literally the worst match possible.”

“Are you joking with me?” Keith asked, knowing that this was very much not a joke, but seriously hoping that it was.

“Nope. I don’t think we’ll work out, but I guess we’ll see how tonight goes.”

The date only got worse from there.

~~~

Lance was watching Netflix on his laptop when he heard the key in the lock, and something shot down his spine. Keith was home. Was Rolo with him? Would he really take a guy back to his place on the first date?

His anxieties were quelled when Keith came through the door, looking thoroughly annoyed.

Keith made it three steps into the room before letting out a loud noise that sounded like the cross between a bear and a moose.

“Bad date?” Lance asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer. He didn’t want to be the target for Keith’s knife throwing practice.

Another noise, quieter than the first but still sounding like a dying animal.

Lance shifted over on the couch, patting the spot he just vacated. “Come watch Netflix with me. It’ll help distract you from that dickhead.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, and Lance rolled his eyes. “Don’t be weird, dude. It’s fine. No homo,” he said, throwing no small amount of sarcasm into the last two words.

His roommate hesitated a moment longer, before moving over to join Lance.

Something fluttered in his stomach, and Lance determinedly ignored it.

Before long, the two of them were drifting off, Lance’s laptop still going, a single blanket stretched over the two of them.

Keith was the first to fall asleep, burrowing his face into Lance’s shoulder. The taller of the pair nestled down as well, feeling warm and content.

Roommates weren’t so bad.

~~~

Lance woke first, head bobbing up with the surprise of the room. This was not the bedroom. Looking around and groaning when he realized he fell asleep with his contacts in again, he slowly remembered how they had ended up in that position.

Keith was snuggled up into Lance’s side, Lance’s right arm cupping the other boy’s shoulders. The blanket had slid down at some point during the night, revealing the curled-up ball that Keith was stretched into. It was such a calm sight, that Lance couldn’t help but smile down at him.

He looked so peaceful when he slept. His face was relaxed, lower lip jutting out just slightly.

Lance’s heart soared, and yet again, he ignored the origin of that feeling.

His phone was next to his laptop on the coffee table, and he stretched to reach it without disturbing the sleeping boy next to him.

Unlocking it, he found his recent text list. Tapping out a quick message, he hit the send button, his small smile tugging into a grin.

He wouldn’t need a lawyer, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter is just kinda moving the plot along, but it was very needed and I'm not apologizing. There are definitely more interesting chapters to come, I promise! Just a little disclaimer: I do NOT feel or in any way support the way Keith views himself in this chapter, I'm just going to put it out there. Why I wrote it this way, I don't know. Also, what even is chapter consistency? This ended up being just a tad bit too long, lol. Good news for the future, I guess? It is a slow burn after all, so I hope that you all don't hate this. But yeah. I love all of the kudos and comments and love that you all are showing to this piece, it makes me happier than I can express with words. As usual, it's unedited for now, but I'll go through it probably later tonight and go back and fix anything I notice is really shitty. I ramble, I know, I know. Also, I don't know if maybe I should change the rating? Because of implied things? But it's not like super explicit and it only points to it (Lotor never actually ~you knows~ Keith) so comment if you think I should.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance go out drinking. You know what's coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dudes I am so sorry for the major gap that I took when writing this it was not at all cool. Anyways, enjoy the minor angst I'm throwing your way. Also, Disclaimer: I don't know how actual drunk people act, as I have never drank nor been around someone who drank enough to qualify as drunk. If this is not an accurate representation, I apologize.

Lance came through the door to their apartment (yeah, it was _theirs_ now), Chinese takeaway in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other. Every Friday night for the past three weeks, he had done this. It was almost starting to become routine, ever since Keith had come back from the date he still refused to talk about, that this was their thing. Lance shoved away the thought before it could fully lodge in his mind. Routines were for couples, and they certainly weren’t a couple.

He opened his mouth to call out a greeting to Keith and get the loser moving up from his bed, when he stopped dead at the sight facing him from the couch.

Keith, staring blankly at the wall, phone clutched in his hand and a shocked expression on his face.

Oh shit. _Oh shit._

Possibilities ran through Lance’s mind as to why his dark-haired friend was currently in this state.

His grandma died. He had just gotten fired. His one and only friend other than Lance (whom Lance still hadn’t learned the identity of) got hit by a car.

Keith spoke before he even had a chance to ask what the fuck was going on.

“I quit my job. I just quit my job.”

Relief flooded through Lance, which was then quickly replaced with confusion.

“Isn't that a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Keith said weakly.

“Then why do you look like you just got told your dog was hit by a car?”

Keith turned his attention from the blank wall to Lance, who was still standing in the doorway like an idiot. Slowly reaching a hand up, he felt his face, as if his feeling his features could tell him why he looked like whatever he looked like.

“… I don’t know,” Keith said finally, and Lance shook his head, finally moving all the way into the apartment.

“Well, now cheap beer and Chinese food doesn’t seem sufficient.”

Keith was still in his odd little bubble of shock, as he barely moved when Lance set the food down on the counter. Normally, he was upon Lance before he had managed to open the door, like he could smell the food from down the hall. The mullet was some kind of bloodhound, Lance would swear it on his life.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was like dumping a bucket of water on Keith. He looked straight up, meeting Lance’s eye, his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Why the fuck would we do that?”

Lance gaped at him, as if the answer was obvious. Keith supposed it probably was.

“You just quit your abusive job with your shit ass boss. Chinese food and cheap beer is _not_ sufficient celebratory food.”

Keith stared back at him, annoyance settling into the lines of his face. “We have this every Friday night, though. It’s fine.”

Lance hmphed, setting to work. Packing up the food was first priority; they would need it as a hangover cure for tomorrow. There was an idea forming in his mind, if only he could get Keith out the door.

He could feel violet eyes boring into the back of his head, sharp as a dagger. Lance dutifully ignored them, pretending that they most certainly did not send shivers shooting down his spine.

When he finally finished shoving the too large containers into a too small space that did not guarantee it would stay that way until tomorrow morning, Lance turned around.

In the short span of time that he had his back turned, Keith was seated on the counter, arms crossed and glaring.

Lance feigned innocence. “What?”

“We are _not_ going out for drinks.”

“Why not?”

“Do you remember the last time that we did that?” Lance cringed. He did in fact remember the last time they went out drinking. The night had ended with him vomiting all through their uber, and Keith getting some random guy’s number sharpied to his forehead.

“But we have to celebrate,” Lance whined. Keith merely crossed his ankles, the tell-tale sign that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m fine with Chinese food,” he replied, a note of finality in his voice that only served to make Lance grin. No matter the situation, that tone never failed to get Lance’s blood boiling. He was gearing up for a verbal sparring match, and the winner would have their way.

Keith narrowed his eyes, and Lance could practically hear the sports commentators going off in his head, narrating their every move and pitching in with their own suggestions.

“Ohhhhh boy, this looks like a good one,” the first said.

The second imaginary commentator nodded his head in agreement. “It’s been awhile since Lance has won a match, you would almost think that he was preparing all for this one.”

The first one’s voice was much more hushed when he spoke again. “But look at the way Kogane’s ankles are crossed, the way his arms are folded over his chest. He is taking none of McClain’s shit tonight.”

“I guess we’ll just have to watch as the event unfolds.”

The malice that had been in Keith’s eyes when they first had this face-off was long gone, replaced with an annoyed tiredness. As if he couldn’t be bothered to give his full effort.

_Try me_ , came with a flash of purple.

_Oh, I will_ , Lance shot back, rising to meet the challenge.

“Give me one good reason why we can’t go out for drinks tonight.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, and held up a hand. “You have your thing tomorrow at the observatory,” he said, ticking off one finger.

“Cancelled,” Lance shot back.

“Last time.” Another finger.

“Someone put something in my drink.”

"Yeah, it's called alcohol." A third finger. “I refuse to deal with your drunk ass.”

“Please, I can handle myself.” A wave of a tan hand.

Keith raised his other eyebrow, but no more reasons were listed.

“It’ll be fun,” Lance said tauntingly, sauntering over a few steps towards him. “You can introduce me to whoever your other friends are, since you’re obviously so embarrassed of me. I’ll make a fool out of myself; how much better can it get?”

Keith blew air sharply out of his nose, but said nothing for a moment. “I’m not cleaning up your puke.”

“Like that’s going to happen anyways,” Lance said with a small snort, turning his back on Keith before he could see whatever expression the pale boy was now wearing after Lance’s bold-faced lie.

“I know just the place,” he sang out, snagging his keys from the bowl by the door. Keith followed closely behind, grumbling about something under his breath.

This was going to be good.

~~~

“I’m driving,” Keith said as they neared the bottom floor, feeling Lance go shock still next to him on the elevator.

“You’re doing what now?” For all of his bravado, Lance’s voice came out as a squeak, and Keith had to bite back a grin. Getting under Lance’s skin was quickly climbing to the top of Keith’s favorite things to do. Telling Lance he was driving was something that Keith loved, yet it had yet to happen. He had a feeling about tonight, though.

He had had a feeling about all of today, actually.

This day had been marked in his calendar for literal months, the day that his contract expired and he was free to quit his god-awful job. No more waiting tables that barely scraped enough of a tip, no more enduring Lotor’s prolonged stares as he went about his duties. He was free.

He had walked in to his office today, feeling tense as he stood, arms crossed in front of that mahogany desk he loathed so much. Lotor had painted vivid images of what went on on-top of that desk, and it was certainly not work. Keith longed to burn that thing, a retribution for all of the unlucky men and women that had been caught in his snare.

But as Keith waited for Lotor to say something, the silver haired man only leaned back in his chair and stared at Keith.

He held his tongue, waiting for Lotor to speak first. His resignation sat barely touched on the awful desk, and Keith spared a glance over at it. He did actually fill it out, right?

Lotor made a move for the phone, and Keith braced himself, waiting for the inevitable call to the police to remove Keith from the premises.

He dialed a number, much longer than the standard police number, and waited for it to ring all the way through.

Keith counted six dial tones before voicemail caught it, and Lotor placed the phone back down.

“Go,” was the only thing that he said, and Keith did not hesitate.

He popped in once to say goodbye to Thace and Axca, the only two that he had learned to like. Well, more like tolerate. But those were semantics.

Someone was snapping their fingers in Keith face, and he reached out before he could even think, grabbing the offending digits and using them to wrench the person’s arm behind their back.

He blinked twice, slowly coming back to the present, and immediately released the person when he realized who it was.

Horror quickly mounting, Keith took several speedy steps away, staring at the floor.

It was silent in the foyer of their apartment building, neither boy speaking. Keith could feel Lance’s burning blue eyes on him, and he looked anywhere but him.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

Lance was the first one to break the terse silence. “Damn, you really weren’t bluffing about those martial arts skills.”

Keith looked up when he heard the faint smile in Lance’s words, heart thudding. Oh god. He had just attacked his roommate.

There was in fact a slight grin on Lance’s face, but there were worry lines around his eyes. Like he, too, was treading in unfamiliar water, and looking for Keith to reaffirm him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not really sure what was appropriate. “Reflexes.”

“I can tell. It’s all good,” Lance replied easily, the worry lines gone and an awkward tilt to his shoulders. Normal Lance. Poor boy really had no idea what to do with those lanky limbs.

_I know what he could do with those limbs._

Nope. No gay thoughts tonight. Not gonna happen.

“I’m driving,” he said, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

_God, that was really not going to help stop the gay._

There was no protest from Lance as they made their way over to Keith’s motorcycle. It had been a gift from Shiro when he turned 18, his first real present in…well, ever. A custom-built beauty, it was sleek and fast, taking curves on a dime. The roaring beneath Keith’s palms was one of his favorite things in the world.

Lance was eyeing the bike nervously, toeing the back tire with the tip of his sneaker.

“Scared, McClain?”

Lance snorted, but the sound that he made was like someone choking. “Nope, not at all. Bring it on, Kogane.”

Keith grinned, and tossed him the spare helmet. Lance had had his back to him when they were exiting, paying no attention to the extra item that Keith had grabbed. He was too focused on his win to notice. It was adorable in an odd sort of way.

Lance was strapping on the helmet, and Keith climbed on, revving the engine once, watching as Lance jumped. This would be fun indeed.

~~~

He tightened his grip on Keith’s slim waist as the deathtrap on wheels sped around another corner. _How had he been talked into this?_

Wind whistled past his ears, images blurring on the sidelines. That could have either been a person, or a parking meter; Lance genuinely had no idea at this point.

They were slowing down, coming up to a stop light. Lance gradually loosened his grip on Keith’s waist, feeling his face heat up as he did so. There was nothing wrong with the position… right?

If Keith minded, he gave no indication. Once, he had shouted something incomprehensible over the wind, but Lance hadn’t managed to catch it. But from what it sounded like, Keith didn’t mind their positions at all.

_Nope, no gay thoughts tonight. Tonight was Keith’s night, he wasn’t going to ruin it by doing something he shouldn’t._

Lance relaxed his grip even more, only to tighten his arms once again as Keith took off the minute the light turned green.

“This is death on wheels!” he shouted, knowing that his words would get swept away by the wind before Keith even heard them, but he was going to explode if he kept all of these thoughts in his head.

Keith’s stomach tightened and released, and then tightened and released. Lance widened his eyes when he realized that Keith had in fact heard him, and was _laughing._

_Go fucking figure. The one time he laughs, and I can’t hear it._ But he could feel it, and that was something else altogether.

If they didn’t get to the bar soon, Lance had a feeling that he was going to combust. Which made no sense at all, because he had no feelings for Keith whatsoever. Nothing. Nada. Nonexistent. Other words beginning with N.

As soon as the thought came into the head, the flashing neon sign came into view, and the bike began to slow down. Air filtered back into Lance’s lungs, and he could feel exactly how much his arms ached.

There was a parking spot right up front, and Lance was hopping off before the machine had even stopped, backing away onto the curb. His legs were wobbly, and he could feel his heart slowly starting to return to its normal speed.

Keith stepped off lightly, tugging his helmet off in one smooth motion. His hair was mussed up, and damn was Lance glad that he was still wearing his helmet. He would have bet all the money in his wallet that his face was currently redder than Keith’s cropped jacket.

Keith was staring, and Lance tugged off his own helmet, hoping his face would just _calm the fuck down_.

“That was fucking awesome,” he breathed as he passed the headgear back to the shorter boy.

Keith’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and Lance’s stomach began to do the Macarena. “Yeah? You seemed to be holding on pretty tight.”

Lance waved his hand. “Pshhhhh, I was fine.”

“Okay,” Keith deadpanned, and Lance turned his back to hide the way his face would just not cooperate with him. In doing so, he spotted a familiar head of blonde hair and the glint of glasses, standing next to a tall woman with a mountain of white hair piled on top of her head.

“Hey, Pidgeon!” Lance called out, breaking into a light jog.

Pidge turned her head, and Lance caught sight of the death in her glare. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Hush, Pidge,” Hunk said from behind her, a grin on her face. “Hey buddy! How’ve you been! It’s been vargas!”

“English, please,” Allura drawled, a smile on her mouth. Hunk blushed.

“Sorry, hard to switch out of work mode.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Pidge interrupted, pushing up to stand on her tip-toes, trying to see over Lance’s shoulder.

“Again, not my boyfriend. Just my roommate.”

“You know, that’s what my ex used to say. Turns out he was much more than just his roommate,” Allura added, a hint of musing to her tone.

Lance could feel several sets of eyes on him, but he was more focused on Pidge’s face. She had the look of realization on her face, and Lance knew that shit was about to hit the fan.

“Was your ex named—”

“Shiro!” came the call from behind him, and Lance spun on his heel, only to find Keith embracing a man with a prosthetic arm, a tuft of white hair just above his eyes.

_Oh no_. And next to him stood Pidge’s male stunt double.

Lance glanced over his shoulder at Allura, who’s dark skin had gone pale. Pidge looked like she was about to burst out laughing, and poor Hunk only looked confused.

Keith’s mysterious friends happened to be Shiro and Matt, also known as Allura’s ex and the guy he left her for. It had been a civil break up, but many nights had been spent with tubs of ice cream and breakup movies following the revelation.

Shiro seemed to have seen Allura as well, as he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Allura.”

“Shiro.”

“Matt?!”

“Pidge!?”

“Hunk!”

“Hunk, why did you say your own name?”

“It was the only one left.”

Lance glanced at Keith, who was staring back with wide eyes.

“First round of drinks is on me!” he shouted. They would all need alcohol to get through tonight.

~~~

Two rounds of drinks later, and Lance is beginning to feel the buzz. Allura and Shiro had stared each other down until the first glass of beer had disappeared, and now Allura was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe, either oblivious or she just didn’t care.

Hunk and Pidge were currently throwing darts, the latter missing horribly. Lance watched on, amused, as Keith sipped at his beer.

“See? This isn’t too bad,” Lance said, not turning his attention from the dart game. Both of them were fairly intoxicated, and Lance didn’t feel like going to the hospital with one of them tonight.

Keith grunted next to him, and the sounds of liquid sloshing in a glass followed.

Lance opened his mouth to say something, and was promptly interrupted by a man with a mic hoping up onto the bar.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!”

The crowd cheered in response.

“I bet he’s going to announce the start of karaoke,” Lance murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Keith snorted next to him, and Lance realized that he had been a bit louder than intended. The buzz in his stomach was growing stronger.

“We have a bit of a twist for you tonight! Instead of karaoke, we are going to have a bar wide game of truth or dare!”

More cheers erupted and Keith frowned and a grin grew on Lance’s face. He had never lost a game of truth or dare.

“Pick your partners, write your names down, and the last team standing wins a $50 certificate!”

Oh yeah. This was going to be fun, indeed.

~~~

Bar wide truth or dare. What the fuck was that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see a mischievous grin growing on Lance’s face. Of few times that Keith had seen that specific look, only once had it not ended in disaster.

Lance leaned down, and Keith felt hot breath tickle his ear. “Me and you, we’re going to win this thing.”

“Are we now,” Keith murmured back, refusing to look into those blue eyes that were so damn close.

“Hell yeah, we are.” And then Lance was moving before Keith could stop him, presumably going to write down their names and enter them into the contest.

Shiro was moving in the same direction, as was the big guy that Lance had called Hunk.

Damn. Who would have thought that Lance was going to invite Allura? Let alone be friends with her?

He really should have known. Things like that always had a way of arranging themselves into sticky situations that resulted in Keith downing his entire first beer in two gulps. He was on his second one now, nursing it rather than chugging it.

The bar was slowly filling with people, and Keith glanced around at all of the faces.

The night hadn’t been bad at all so far, despite the awkward encounter they had outside of the bar. But even that was quickly resolved.

Lance had disappeared into the horde of people, and Keith focused in on where he had last seen him.

Over these past few weeks, the tan-skinned boy had grown on him, to the point where Keith had cancelled his lawyer. Presumably, Lance was still talking to his, but there had been no further discussion as to who would be moving out.

Even just thinking about it, and Keith felt hollow. The apartment was small, but living in it alone suddenly made it seem so much larger.

If all went well, he wouldn’t ever have to face that.

Warmth was blossoming in his core, aided by the alcohol, but certainly helped by the grin that Lance was sending in his direction.

_Get your shit together, Keith. Don’t fuck up a good thing._

“We are officially in the contest,” Lance said as soon as he was within earshot.

Keith nodded, forcing himself to appear uninterested.

Lance didn’t deflate in the slightest.

“The way this works is that they pull a team from the bowl with all the names, and then pull a slip of paper asking either truth or dare. Do what the paper tells you, and you move on to the next round. Don’t, and you’re out.”

Keith nodded again. Sounded simple enough, and he could go for a distraction. As reluctant as he was to go out, any time spent with Lance was fine with him.

_You are so screwed_ , his mind helpfully supplied. Keith couldn’t help but agree.

~~~

Their first dare was simple enough: take a line of shots in under ten seconds. Lance chose to do that one, and the final glass got slammed down with four seconds to spare.

Allura and Hunk made up another team, and Shiro and Matt a third. Pidge was too young to compete, and the night’s designated driver.

Keith had avoided the short blonde for a good portion of the night. The way she looked at him, like she _knew_ something, really, really, unnerved him. He had no doubt that she knew something, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be informed of the something.

Allura ended up pulling dare as well, and Keith choked on his drink when she read it out loud.

“Give your partner a lap dance.”

Hunk had turned red, and fled to the bathroom before another word could be said. Needless to say, they were the first pair out.

The night progressed, the truths and dares getting only more lewd and suggestive. Keith had to answer the first time he had gotten a hard on, and Lance was forced lick a random stranger.

Keith was very grateful for the alcohol in his system when that dare came into play.

Finally, it was down to Lance and Keith versus a girl named Ezor and a girl named Narti.

The crowd hushed as the man with the mic pulled out the final slip of paper.

“For this final round, both teams will have to complete it. Whoever the crowd cheers for louder, wins.”

Keith glanced over at Lance, only to find that the boy had turned pale, a nervous smile on his face as he looked at the paper in the bar tender's hand.

_What the fuck?_

Keith quickly found out why that was.

“Do something your partner doesn’t expect. The hotter, the better.”

His mind blanked. Would he do it, or would Lance?

_Do something your partner doesn’t expect._

And then a mouth met his, and all else disappeared.

_Do something your partner doesn’t expect_.

Keith certainly didn’t expect this.

Lance’s lips were warm, firm against his. A full three seconds passed before Keith truly registered what was happening, and in that time, Lance was already pulling away.

If Lance thought they were going to lose after all coming this far, he was sorely mistaken.

Keith snaked a hand up, weaving fingers into thick strands of hair. Lance made a noise of surprise, and then their mouths were clashing together again, a flurry of teeth and lips.

Lance tensed for a brief second, and Keith felt his insides go cold. Had he stepped too far? But then Lance was melting against him, lips sliding over each other.

A tongue was probing his lower lip, and Keith moaned, opening his mouth. Lance took the opportunity, pushing his tongue in as they pressed even closer.

It was heaven and hell. The glorious feeling, but knowing that it wouldn’t last for much longer. Lance was still kissing him, and as much as his body screamed not to, Keith pulled away, panting.

The room was dead silent. No one moved, not even Narti and Ezor. And then Ezor broke out in a loud cheer, and the rest of the room followed suit.

“I think we have our winners!” the bar-tender shouted. Despite the fuzziness in his brain, Keith was beginning to sober up. He didn’t feel like a winner.

Refusing to meet Lance’s eyes, he walked up and collected their winnings. Stuffing the gift card into his pocket, he grabbed the nearest drink and downed it in one go. Vodka. It burned as it went down, but alleviated the burning that was his heart.

There was something to be said about drowning your sorrows in liquor.

~~~

Lance stared at the spot where Keith had been only a moment before, lips still tingling. It was only meant to catch him off guard. He didn’t expect Keith to take it that far.

He needed a drink. Now. Something was pressed into his hand, and he didn’t even question it as he chugged it all, relishing in the way the warmth spread from his throat all the way down to his toes.

A hand was clapping him on the shoulder, shouts of congratulations coming from all around.

Lance murmured his thanks, searching around for those violet eyes that he couldn’t forget even if he tried.

There. There was Keith. He was talking to Shiro, the older man glancing over Keith’s head to look right at Lance.

Fear shot through him. Shiro, the ex-marine, was looking at Lance like he was going to kill him.

He braced himself, praying that his death will be swift. But no blow ever came, and Lance peeked open one eye. Shiro was laughing with Keith, no longer giving Lance a death glare, and Lance relaxed. Slightly.

Another drink was passed to him, and Lance took a swig, coughing on the liquid. Tequila.

He knew he needed to stop, but he couldn’t. Not after what just happened.

_Do something that your partner doesn’t expect._

Lance certainly didn’t expect that to happen.

~~~

They were being shooed out of the door, and Keith giggled as Lance stumbled over his own feet.

“Don youuuu giggle ah me,” Lance slurred, and Keith broke into a fresh round of laughter.

The bartender shook his head, closing and locking the door behind them. Keith blew a raspberry at the glass.

They were walking, Lance with his arm slung around Keith’s shoulders, when Lance stopped suddenly. Keith was forced to stop as well, or risk being clotheslined.

“You know wha’ we shou’ do?” Lance was slurring his words, even though his face was solemn.

“What should we do?” Keith asked, who wasn’t that much soberer than Lance, but enough that it counted.

“We shou’ egg the place you quit!”

Keith paused. Lance was staring at him with wide eyes, the blue vivid enough that Keith could still see it even in the two-a.m. darkness. “Les do it.”

They were both drunk, but even in their intoxicated state, the pair managed to make it to the 7-Eleven on the corner. Keith giggled the whole way there, and Lance stumbled over his own feet every few steps. It must have been a sight to see.

The pimply faced teen behind the counter looked reluctant to sell them the eggs.

“You’re not going to go vandalize shit with these, right?”

“No sir,” Lance said, sounding more serious than Keith had ever seen him. It took all of his willpower not to laugh. He was just so cute all drunked up. Was drunked a word? Whatever. Keith quit his job today—that meant he could make up all the words he wanted to.

“What are you going to do with them, then?” the kid asked, and Keith sighed.

“Look, _duuuude_ , we’re making omelets.”

“At two in the morning?”

Lance and Keith both nodded, and the kid merely shook his head as he rang up their eggs and passed them back over the counter.

“Have fun with your omelets!” he called out after them as Lance broke into giggles two feet from the door. Keith was frowning.

“Now I want omelets.”

Lance waved a hand. “We can have omelets later.”

“Omelets,” Keith said, testing the word out on his tongue. “That sounds like a false word.”

But Lance didn’t hear him, as he was already walking ahead, happily toting his carton of eggs.

Keith shook his head. He couldn’t believe that he was in love with this idiot.

Wait.

Keith stumbled to a halt, and he must have made enough noise that Lance turned around and stopped as well.

“Keith?”

But Keith didn’t hear him, he was so focused on the revelation he just experienced.

When had that happened? How long had it been? Was that even true? Was that what this was?

_I’m in love with this idiot._

Keith was severely fucked.

~~~

Lance stared back at Keith standing under the streetlight, looking like he just figured out the meaning of life, and was simultaneously appalled and fascinated. It was a very unique look.

It was nice to be able to stare at Keith, though. After their… dare, Lance was afraid that they wouldn’t be able to go back to being normal, but when he found Keith three drinks later, the violet eyed boy was laughing and fine, smiling up at Lance like nothing had changed at all. Thank God for alcohol.

Now he stood, staring silently at the boy who was so much more than a roommate, if only Lance would give that idea the time of day. Whoever decided that Keith got to look like that, drunk off his ass, staring at his palms like they held the keys to the universe, deserved both a promotion and to be fired. No one should be that stunning.

Lance shook his head. The last shot of vodka was really getting to him now, as he swayed on his feet.

“Hey! Loser!” Keith looked up. “Are we going to egg your shit ass job place or not?”

Keith stared back at him, and Lance wished that he could capture that moment forever. Before it could occur to him what a bad idea this was, he took out his phone and snapped a picture of Keith. Sucking in a breath, Lance saved it, feeling his heart pound. This would be something to remember.

The boy with the mullet was walking towards him now, steady on his feet in a way that Lance only wished he could be.

“You’re beautiful,” Lance breathed, and Keith looked up sharply.

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re ugly!” Lance shouted, walking away. Well, attempting to walk away. He managed to stumble a few feet, before tripping and nearly falling flat on his face.

“Eggs are okay,” he murmured when he recovered.

A thin arm snaked around his waist, and Lance sank into the touch.

“So where are we going?”

“This café called Quintessence.”

Lance stopped, jerking Keith to a stop as well.

“You.”

“Me,” Keith replied, looking highly confused.

“You were my waiter.”

Realization dawned on Keith’s face as Lance began to have an existential crisis.

“I already knew that, you dumbass.”

“Well I didn’t!”

Oh god. This was the waiter that Allura told him to go out with. What were the chances she recognized him, since she knew both Shiro and Matt? Oh no.

Keith took a step back, taking his arm and warmth with him.

“Is it a problem?”

Lance shook his head, trying to figure out a way to explain exactly why he was freaking out.

“I thought you were hot that day!” is what ended up coming out of his mouth.

They both froze.

“…what?”

“NOTHING!”

Lance began to walk again, and just like before, only made it a few steps before tumbling down. Keith did not catch him this time.

Quintessence only ended up being a short walk away, and they did it in silence.

“Did you really think I was cute?” Keith asked when they were only a few feet away from the outside patio.

“Yeah,” Lance said quietly. No use hiding it now.

Keith hummed in reply, reaching over to take the box of eggs from Lance. Their fingers brushed as he did so, and Lance felt as Keith linked their pinkies together for the briefest second before pulling away.

His heart fluttered, and Lance focused on keeping his breathing even.

Keith was picking out eggs, and he passed the carton back to Lance when he had two, one in each hand. Lance took two as well, and set the carton on the sidewalk.

“Ready? 1—”

Keith threw his first egg, followed closely by his second one.

“You were supposed to throw it after I said 3!”

But eggs were flying from both of their hands now, cracking as they hit the side of the café, sticky egg yolk dripping down.

Lance was laughing, really laughing, and even without looking he knew that Keith was grinning too.

_Whoop whoop!_

Oh. Shit.

Blue and red lights began to flash, and Lance looked over at Keith for a split second before breaking into a run. Something about the sound of sirens was very sobering. For a drunk person, Keith could move like a cheetah.

They were barely a five-minute walk from their apartment, even less with them running. Or, it would have been faster if Lance hadn’t run into the trashcan in the alleyway.

A loud crash sounded, and the echo of footsteps was steadily growing louder. Picking himself up, the two ran the rest of the way to their apartment, Keith pressing the button for the elevator. If it came in time…

The doors popped open, and Lance dashed in, jabbing the close door button as fast as he could.

Keith was panting heavily next to him, and the adrenaline was making his head pound.

They exchanged a look, and promptly burst out laughing.

Lance was laughing so hard that he could breathe, sides aching. They had just egged the café where Keith and him had first met, and then ran from the cops.

He was still wheezing as he walked out of the elevator on their floor, feeling the buzz of the alcohol still in his system.

Keith had his keys out, and was staring at them in his palm as he waited in front of their door.

“Go on, open up,” he whispered. “Open the damn door.”

“Keith, babes, you have to actually put the key in the doooooor.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh.”

“Yeahhhhhhh.”

Keith picked out their apartment key, and attempted to jab it straight through the wood.

Lance sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Well then you do it, if you’re so smart!”

Lance took the keys from him, and gently showed Keith how to open a door. The shorter boy grumbled as the formerly closed area now became open, and he was allowed to walk through.

“Don’t have to be a showoff.”

Lance huffed, and shut the door behind them with a soft click. Keith went straight to the couch, flopping down onto it with a small ‘oof’.

He wrinkled his nose, knowing that in the morning Keith would not make it to the bathroom fast enough if he ended up falling asleep on the sofa.

But Lance was starting to feel tired too, so he really couldn’t blame him.

A muffled sound came from the direction of the couch. “Truth or dare?”

Lance froze, nearly dropping the water bottle he was currently holding. Setting it carefully back in the fridge, he dug out the bottle of vodka. If they were doing this, they were doing this drunk off their asses.

“Dare,” Lance said, taking a swig of the vodka. Liquid fire, so adequately named.

“I dare you to call this number,” Keith said, and then listed off a number. Lance typed it in as Keith talked, feeling an uncanny sense of familiarity. It wasn’t until the last digit popped up that Lance knew where this number was from.

“Yo, it’s the dude that calls me asking for sex like every other day!”

Keith’s head shot up from where it had previously been buried in the couch cushion.

“What.” It was a stated growl, purple fire burning in his eyes.

Lance pushed on, oblivious to Keith’s anger. “Yeah, just called me out of the blue, said he knew I was looking for sex, and I just like hung up. He keeps calling though, and by now I’m just fucking with him. Not like, fucking _fucking_ , but ya know what I mean.” He was rambling, but wow what kind of coincidence was it that Keith listed off that creepy guy’s number.

A chuckle began to worm its way out of his throat as the vodka began to hit his system. He knew that he would severely regret how much he drank in the morning, but for now, it was fine. As long as he could keep talking to Keith, everything was fine.

“When was the first day he called you?” Keith asked. He was sitting all the way up on the couch now, and Lance could begin to feel worry gnawing at his gut even through the alcoholic glaze.

Lance thought back, struggling to recall the date. “I don’t know, I think it was a Saturday. The same day…” Lance trailed off, realizing exactly what Saturday it was. Keith seemed to come to that realization as well, as his face became ashen and he flopped back down on the couch.

“Allura left my number for you… and you gave it to your creepy fucking boss. What the fucking hell, dude?”

“I thought it was her number!” His words were muffled, but Lance heard them clearly enough.

Lance glanced down at his phone, and then back up at Keith. “Do I still have to call the number?”

“Please don’t.”

Lance nodded, and hit ‘call’. Putting it on speaker, Lance waited for it to register with Keith.

He shot up again, eyes wild, and even though Lance knew better now, he was still terrified that Keith was going to use his as dart practice when that look came over his face.

“Don’t do it,” Keith mouthed, but Lance shook his head.

It was three in the morning, but Lotor picked up on the third ring. “Hey there babe,” came the gravelly tones of someone who had just been woken rather abruptly. “Little late for a booty call.”

“Oh, no, baby, I’m sorry,” Lance said, trying to keep his snickers in. Keith’s face became closed off, and his head tilted to the left ever so slightly.

“No, doll, don’t worry at all. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Well, daddy,” Lance nearly choked as he said the word, “there is actually. I’ve been a very naughty boy.”

“You know what I do to naughty boys, don’t you?”

Lance bit his lip to keep from losing his shit. “Spank me, daddy.”

~~~

Keith just about lost it when Lance told Lotor to spank him.

He was watching to see where this went, and he was ready to drop kick the phone right out of Lance’s hand when he pressed call.

But this was so much funnier than he could have ever predicted. But he kept his face neutral, not letting Lance see exactly how much he was enjoying the show.

Obscene moans were coming from the phone as Lance had silent tears of laughter rolling down his face. He was faking his own moans, and Keith had to wonder about the intelligence levels of his former boss to actually buy into this.

Lance wasn’t able to keep a straight face as he continued the conversation, but you wouldn’t know it based on the way he talked. An open bottle of vodka next to him and probably so much more already in his system, and he sounded like he was as sober as could be. Suave, even.

A long moan came from the phone, and the sounds of skin against skin disappeared. Lance looked at Keith with eyes as large as saucers, and Keith stared back. Did he…?

Lance, all of his smoothness gone, squeaked out a hasty goodbye, and hung up.

“Has that ever happened before?” Keith finally managed to ask.

“Never,” Lance murmured, a horrified look on his face.

He’d just heard his former boss come over the phone. Holy fuck.

A spark of jealousy stirred in his gut, and he quickly squashed it down.

Lance’s voice was weak when he spoke. “Truth or dare?”

~~~

The bottle of vodka was nearly gone, not that it had been very full in the first place, and Keith was staring into the depths of the bottle as if they could tell him the secrets of the universe. Or at least the secrets of how Lance felt.

Keith didn’t even know what time it was at this point, only that it was early enough that the sun was beginning to kiss the sky gold.

“Truth or dare?” Lance murmured, eyes lidded.

“Truth,” Keith replied, his body aching at the mere thought of moving.

“Tell me a secret.”

Keith blinked, once, then twice, making sure that he heard Lance right. “I’m an orphan,” he said, intending for that to be the end of it. But when the words start, they don’t stop. “My mom left me when I was younger, and my dad died soon after. I was bounced around from foster house to foster house, not staying anywhere for more than a year until I met Shiro. He took me in, gave me a bed that was my own—also the reason I panicked the day I found you in it—and gave me someone to call family. I guess I just have some walls up because she left me, you know?” He could feel the tell-tale sign of tears pricking the back of his eyes, and he surreptitiously swiped his sleeve over his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry, dammit.

Lance was silent for a long while, no sound coming from the other end of the couch. Keith looked up, ready to kick the bastard awake, only to find Lance staring at him with those vivid blue eyes of his.

“Let me climb them.”

“…what?”

“Let me climb your walls. You don’t have to break them down, let me climb them.”

“Y-you don’t have to do that.”

“ _I want to_.” There was a note of desperation in his voice, and Keith felt something shatter inside his chest. “I want to climb your walls. Let me. Please. You don’t have to tear them down, just let me climb them. I don’t care if it takes years, I’m going to be there for you.”

There was such a certainty in his voice that Keith was tempted to believe him. He was so, so tempted to say _yes, climb my walls, stay with me._ But no one ever stayed. Not even Shiro.

“I’m leaving,” Keith said quietly, stopping Lance in his tracks. He had been slowly climbing closer to Keith, but now he was frozen, hovering with one hand on the back of the sofa and the other a few inches from Keith’s thigh.

“You’re what?” Lance asked carefully, and Keith knew that there was not enough alcohol in the world that could make this any easier.

“I’m leaving. Not now, but soon. December.” He could practically hear his heart breaking in his chest.

“Why?” A single word, but it was enough to drive Keith to the verge of tears. Stupid vodka, making him so much more vocal.

“Because I have to.”

Keith was very determinedly ignoring those sharp blue eyes, knowing that if he looked into them, all reason and common sense and rationality would leave his human.

_Come with me. Don’t leave me like everyone else_. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t force them out of his mouth.

“Allura offered me a job. A permanent one, at the observatory, when I finish school. And,” Lance took a deep breath, but Keith knew exactly where he was going with this, “I said yes. I’ll be staying here.”

Keith let out the breath he had been holding without realizing it, along with the lingering hope that Lance would follow him wherever he went. Of course, he wouldn’t. They had only known each other for, what, a month? Of course Lance wouldn’t. He would follow his own path, just like Keith would follow his.

“That’s really good,” Keith said finally, realizing that Lance was still waiting on an answer. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, lacking his usual spunk. Jesus. How had this night gone south like this?

“Are we going to talk about the dare?”

The question broke through the fog of Keith’s mind, and he zeroed in on where Lance was, now bathed in the morning sunlight spilling in through the cracks in their blinds.

“Which one?” Keith asked, waiting for Lance to chuckle. It never came. The tan-skinned boy was entirely serious, and Keith swallowed, a sudden feeling of shittiness washing over him. How had he not passed out by now?

“You know which one.”

“Do we need to?”

Silence. “I guess not.”

Keith nodded, a wave of nausea rolling in next. Oh god. He was going to be sick.

He bolted up, making a mad dash for the only bathroom in their apartment. Heaving, he threw up everything that had been in his stomach, and so much more. With a single flush, gone were his feelings, his emotions, anything he had ever felt for Lance. It would only be more painful to linger. Love was for fools, and Keith had never felt so foolish.

~~~

When Lance awoke, he was sprawled out on the floor of their living room, curled around a couch cushion.

His stomach rumbled, and he shot up, shooting for the kitchen sink rather than the toilet in the bathroom. Experience had shown him that he wasn’t going to make the latter.

Head pounding and stomach now empty, Lance struggled to recall what had occurred the night before. Bit by bit, pieces and parts came back to him, starting with the awkward Allura/Shiro encounter at the bar, the truth or dare contest he and Keith had won, the dare that they had won with, etc. All the way up until Lance told him he wanted to climb Keith’s walls.

Groaning, he rested his forehead on the cool surface of the counter top, squeezing his eyes shut. Had he really done that? God, and worst of all, he meant it. He wanted to do every single thing he said.

But Keith was leaving. _Keith was leaving_. How _stupid_ did he think Keith was to stay here with him? A guy that he had only met a month previous?

As cliché as it sounded, Lance had found a home here, in this apartment that he shared with a certain violet eyed boy. To stay here with him, that’s why he finally said yes to Allura. And now he had gone and fucked it up. Tears were pricking the backs of his eyes, and he swallowed thickly.

He could hear the sounds of feet approaching, and Lance slithered down to lay on the floor. His stomach was in knots, his head was pounding, and who said the sun could exist in their living room?

A toe to his side had Lance curling up into a tighter ball.

“Mmmmmmnngg.”

“Oh gross, dude, if you’re going to puke in the sink at least turn on the garbage disposal.” Hence, the sound of a garbage disposal starting up that had Lance groaning. Jesus, why was everything so _loud._

It turned off, and Lance hummed in the blissful silence.

“Hey, so what do you remember of last night?” That was Keith, blunt to a fault. Lance had his face buried in the crook of his arm, so that his expression was hidden from Keith.

He debated telling the truth, but instead said, “Nothing. Total blackout after we egged Quintessence.”

A cough, and the shuffling of feet. “Me too.”

Keith walked out of the kitchen, and Lance wanted to call out to him. But he didn’t.

_It’s better this way._

The lie sounded false even to him.

The tears were starting to run down his face, and Lance let himself cry. How had he ever let himself fall so deeply?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally had the third chapter written and everything my lazy ass just could never find a time to edit and post it here, because I have genuinely had no free time at all over these past few weeks and everything. I'm sorry guys. There will also probably be a semi gap between this chapter and the next one, warning you now. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me through this. Comments and kudos are loved so much and the genuine thing that keeps me writing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds out that it's Keith's birthday in a few days, and decides that he has to give him the best birthday celebration ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! It has been nearly 9 (10?) months since I last updated this, for which I greatly apologize. Life and school got the better of me, and I dealt with a lot over this past school year that prevented me from writing/doing what I actually wanted to do. As it is, enjoy this chapter! Comments and kudos make my day :)

Keith groaned, blinking his eyes open and wondering why his cheek was so cool. It took a moment for him to orient himself, but when he did, he found himself face-to-tile in the match-box bathroom, the reek of puke in the air, and his back twisted at an odd angle so that his head was stuck between the toilet and the wall.

His head pounded, and he immediately regretted his decision to sit up. As he fought another wave of nausea, a barely there coherent thought entered his mind: _he had been right._ He knew that the night would end like this, and he managed a weak smile at managing to prove the idiot wrong.

Now it was morning—probably—and Keith felt sick as all hell. The events of the night before came back one by one, like a child handing him random toys to hold. Except the toys were memories, and instead of feeling endeared by the toys, he felt embarrassed and ashamed. Ashamed at how much he enjoyed the kiss with Lance, embarrassed at how stupid they both were (who forgets that ‘omelets’ was a word?), and heavily regretful that he had let Lance become so close to him this past month or so.

_Ah fuck_. Keith felt his heart hammer as he remembered the very last thing he and Lance had talked about. It was only a vague recollection (there had been so much alcohol in his system at this point), but he had told Lance he was leaving. But what did Lance say afterwards.

His head began to pound harder as he struggled to recall, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to rub the drowsiness and hangover away.

_How much did Lance remember?_ The last time they had gone drinking, Lance had remembered absolutely nothing from the night before, other than the stupid moments Keith wished he would forget. Would that make this time any different?

“Fuck,” Keith said, dragging out the word. He was in such deep shit. He had hoped that he had been able to vomit away all of his feelings, but there they were, resurfacing and choking him all over again. Keith imagined a hammer, appearing right above his head, that he could take and use to smash all of his feelings to pieces.

It had only been a kiss. How did it end up like this?

The thought sounded vaguely familiar, and it took Keith a moment to realize it was a line from one of Lance’s songs. He was going to strangle him later. Keith wasn’t really sure if he meant himself, or Lance.

Standing up and fighting the wave of dizziness, he forced himself to lock eyes with his reflection in the mirror. _You’re an actual fucking idiot,_ he told himself. Keith just stuck his tongue out at his reflection.

He took a moment to wash out his mouth, attempting to get rid of the lingering taste in his mouth, wrinkling his nose when he failed. Lance may have been right that it had been fun, but Keith wasn’t about to show him that.

Padding out into the kitchen, he saw Lance curled up in a ball on the floor, head tucked against the crook of his elbow.

_No one should look that adorable while hungover,_ he thought, and then immediately smothered the thought and accompanying feelings with a pillow. _No. No gay thoughts._

Keith watched him for a moment, unsure if he was asleep or not, and then considered the best way to wake him up. A slow grin spread across his face as he prodded a toe into Lance’s side that had the boy curling up tighter and making a noise akin to that of a displeased cat.

Something rancid hit his nose, and Keith glanced towards the sink, only to find it full of vomit.

“Oh gross, dude, if you’re going to puke in the sink at least turn on the garbage disposal.” He flipped the switch, and immediately cringed as the loud noise hit his ears. Grating his teeth, he waited until the last of the puke disappeared down the drain before turning it off.

Lance hummed in approval at the silence, and Keith hated the way he sagged in relief as well.

And now for the uncomfortable part. The part that he had been bracing himself for since he had woken up.

“Hey, so what do you remember of last night?” The words sounded falsely light, and he could just imagine the insults that Lance would be flinging his way if he was coherent enough to form them.

Keith wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Would it really be a bad thing if Lance did remember? Maybe if he did…

Keith didn’t want to consider what would happen if Lance said he knew what they talked about. But a little nugget of hope was forming in his chest, and Keith was too stupid to shoo it away.

But then Lance spoke, and that little nugget was drop kicked into oblivion. “Nothing. Total blackout after we egged Quintessence.”

Everything in him felt like he was going to be sick all over again. But if Lance didn’t remember, he wasn’t going to push the issue. Keith opened his mouth, trying to force the words out, but they got stuck in the throat that was clogged full of emotion. He coughed, trying to will the tears away, shuffling his feet. Keith wasn’t an emotional person, so why the hell did Lance get to do this to him?

“Me too,” he replied, and then walked out of the kitchen before anything else could be said or done. _Feelings were for those dumb enough to fall_. Keith wasn’t one of those people.

Keith shut the bedroom door behind him and collapsed onto his bed. There had only been a handful of times in his life that he had cried, but as he lay with his nose buried in the smell of Lance’s expensive shampoo, Keith didn’t fight the tears.

_Leaving wasn’t supposed to hurt this much_.

~~~

Neither of them mentioned their drunken night out, except for a few passing comments here and there. There were moments where Lance felt like Keith knew more than he was letting on, but there were other times that the mullet head was so thick that Lance knew he couldn’t possibly know anything.

“He’s just so fucking dumb,” he said around a mouthful of Danish. “Like, if you gathered the entire population of Earth and made them stand in a line from smartest to dumbest, Keith would rank dead last.”

Hunk looked at him, mild exasperation coloring his face. “Lance, hun, juts because he didn’t know what _Game of Thrones_ was, does not make him dumb.”

Lance pouted, swallowing the food that was in his mouth. “Yeah, actually it does.” Hunk shook his head, turning to Pidge for support.

“I’m with Lance on this one. Of all people, Keith should know what that show is. It practically screams _Keith_. Does he give anyone else ‘I will stab you with a dull knife’ vibes?” Both Hunk and Lance nodded. “There, you have your answer.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Lance was gazing out the window, too distracted to notice the silent conversation going on right in front of him.

“How long do you think it will take for them to realize they’re in love with each other?” Hunk cocked his head to the side.

Pidge shook hers in response. “Never. They’re both too much of an imbecile to acknowledge it.”

Hunk raised both eyebrows. “How about a wager?”

Pidge inclined her head towards Lance. “Done. But no interfering.”

They were just about to settle on the terms of the bet when Lance clued back in. “Hey!” he shouted in indignation. “I told you two to stop doing that!”

Pidge just shrugged, playing innocent. “Doing what?”

Lance gestured between them. “This,” he said, emphatically.

Hunk looked innocent as well. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lance.”

Lance huffed. “Whatever. Just don’t make anymore bets about me, please.”

Pidge laughed. “Alright, if you can get your head out of the sand and—” her words ended in an outcry of pain. Reaching down, she glared at Hunk as she rubbed at her ankle.

Lance decided he didn’t care enough to find out what was going on anymore. “I don’t know why I put up with you two,” he said, going back to looking out the window of the cafe.

Hunk shot Pidge a meaningful glance, and the conversation once more lapsed into silence.

~~~

Lance and Keith sat on either end of the couch in their apartment, Keith reading and eating as Lance typed away on his laptop. Keith had just started his replacement job at the local bookstore, just to tide him over until he left in December. Once he left, he would write weekly travel editorials, and that would be enough to finance his trips. It wasn’t really about the experience, though. He just couldn’t stand to stay anywhere for too long. And maybe… maybe he would finally find his mother.

Lance snorted, drawing Keith out of his thoughts from where he was absently staring at the far wall.

“What?” Keith asked, looking over at him. His stomach fluttered briefly when their eyes met, but he buried that in his imaginary chest of feelings, double padding the lock.

“Just this essay,” Lance said, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to write about how modern-day astronomy and astrology influence each other. I read my horoscope, and it was funny how opposite it was.”

Keith chuckled, remembering his own run-in with astrology.

“What?” Lance asked, parroting Keith’s questions earlier.

“I’m just thinking about the godawful date I had with Rolo. It was going fine until he asked me my star sign, and when I told him, he responded how we weren’t compatible, and it just went downhill from there.”

Lance let out a short laugh, facing his laptop once again. Keith noticed the slight pink tint to his cheeks. The same pink tint that only showed up right before Lance was about to ask something that he felt nervous about.

“What is your star sign?” Lance asked, voice surprisingly even, given his pallor.

It took Keith a moment to recall. “I think I’m a Scorpio,” he said finally. Lance typed for a moment, and then the pink shade became more of a red.

Keith watched him with growing interest. Even with his blue eyes locked on the screen, Lance was stunning. He could feel himself slipping down that rabbit hole once more, but Lance caught his attention before he could.

“Huh, would you look at that,” Lance said, with forced nonchalance. “I put our star signs into this thing—just for laughs or whatever—and apparently we’re a ‘perfect match.’” There were air quotes around the last two words, and Keith felt his heart pick up in speed.

“Oh?” he questioned, and Lance nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. Everything in Keith screamed at him to get closer, so instead, he moved a little further away.

Lance must have picked up on this, as he quickly turned to Keith, a panicked look on his face. “Not that it means anything, of course. Astrology is just a load of bullshit.”

Keith murmured a quiet agreement, and then with more resistance than he cared to admit, turned his attention back to his book.

It was another few minutes before Lance spoke again. “Would you look at that,” he said softly, and once more, Keith’s attention was dragged to Lance. _Dragged makes it sound like I don’t want to spend every waking minute with him_. Keith felt his face heat up at the thought. And then he took out his imaginary broom and beat it into the box once more.

“What?”

“We’re in the Scorpio sign right now. That means your birthday is probably soon, right?” Keith checked the home screen of his phone for today’s date.

“Yeah, actually. My birthday is in five days.”

Lance began spluttering and Keith looked to him in concern. “Your birthday is in five days and you didn’t think to tell me? Five days isn’t nearly long enough to plan anything good!”

Keith frowned at his supposed outrage. “Chill out, dude. My birthday isn’t that big of a deal. I’ve never really celebrated it before. I was just planning on having a few drinks on and maybe hanging out with Shiro and Matt the weekend before,” he said. “And you, actually,” he added after a pause, choosing instead to study the ceiling. It really was quite fascinating, with all of it’s expansive whiteness and boringness and ceiling…ness.

Keith looked over to Lance, only to find those blue eyes watching him intensely. “You’ve never celebrated your birthday before?” Lance asked, with a tenderness in his voice that made Keith ache all over.

“Not really,” he replied.

Lance shifted closer to him, and this time, Keith didn’t move away. They were so close now that if he wanted to, Keith could reach out and cup Lance’s face. He was almost about to before rational thoughts caught up with him.

“Fuck,” Lance breathed, and there was that ache again. “Someone like you deserves everything in the world.”

Keith couldn’t breathe. Everything felt like it was on edge, like Keith was just a kiss away from plummeting over the edge of a precipice.

“Lance,” Keith said, unable to say anything else.

Lance glanced downward, so briefly that Keith almost missed it. “I’m going to give you the best birthday you could ever have,” he said. Keith believed him.

But then, as suddenly as it had come, everything went back to normal. Lance swallowed audibly before leaning away, and Keith rocked on his heels as he stood up.

“Dishes,” he said in lieu of an explanation, trying desperately to get himself back under control.

His roommate was going to be the death of him.

~~~

Keith had left him a total of two days to plan the most spectacular birthday ever, and Lance was currently panicking. Yes, he was well aware that he was supposed to be tracking the movements of the stars because his internship and therefore his thesis depended on it, but really? Could you expect anything from him at the moment?

Allura sensed that something was off from the minute he walked in the door. The story came tumbling out (with Lance barely dodging mentioning the almost kiss), and Allura had given him a sympathetic look. She still looked a little wary when it came to things related to his accidental roommate, but she was there for Lance.

“…and I’ve only got this Friday night off, and he has plans with Shiro and Matt already, and I’m well aware that I can’t miss work this weekend, since my research actually revolves around a lot of what we’re doing on Saturday and—”

Allura cut him off with a single hand, Lance struggling to take in air. There was an intense pressure in his chest right now, and small little spots danced in his vision.

“Lance, breathe,” she said. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re passed out from lack of oxygen.”

He nodded, hearing the rationality in her words.

“Why is this so important to you?” she asked quizzically, but not meanly.

It took him a moment to find the right words. “Because… we’re friends, now. Yeah, he started out as my dick of a roommate that wasn’t even supposed to be there, but we’re friends now, and he’s never celebrated his birthday before,” Lance’s voice was slowly growing quieter, to the point where the last of his words were just spoken to himself. “And I care about him.”

He stared at the large telescope in the center of the room. This device had been able to spell out so many secrets of the universe for him, mapping stars and constellations and giving him a sense of infiniteness. But there was no telescope to look inside his heart and tell him the real reason he was doing this.

“He’s leaving, Allura. I just want to make my mark so he doesn’t forget me.” His voice broke on the words, and he hated the way his throat felt tight and his eyes stung.

He had been so desperate for Keith to leave, but now that he was, Lance couldn’t take it. Allura wrapped him up in a hug, and he slouched down so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder.

“What do I do?” he asked softly, and Allura knew that he wasn’t speaking about the birthday celebration anymore.

She flashed back to the night they all went out drinking to celebrate Keith quitting his job. Lance had looked at Keith like he put the damn stars in the sky, not that she had ever told him so. As intelligent as he was, Lance had no idea that he was head over heels for Keith.

Allura wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. She still shuddered as she recalled what Lance told her had happened from her phone-number-on-a-receipt schtick.

“Well, Lance,” she started, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. “Whatever you do, I don’t think Keith is ever going to forget you.” Because Lance wasn’t the only one desperately pining.

“I’ve been thinking, but there’s just nothing _good enough_. It’s Keith! He doesn’t like anything!”

Allura frowned but didn’t have time to voice her disagreement before Lance was speaking again. “I can’t bring him by here, company policy and all that, and the spot is too cold this time of year, and the fair is in town but—”

Lance cut off suddenly, recalling something Keith had said to him in passing a few days ago.

“That’s it!” he shouted, drawing away from Allura fully, who was giving him a wide-eyed concerned look. “I know what I’m going to do for his birthday.”

He could tell that Allura had no idea what he was planning, but he was too caught up in his thoughts and ideas for it to really matter.

It was perfect.

~~~

“Hey, I’m really sorry but I think we have to cancel,” Matt said, and Keith could hear Shiro vomiting in the background of the phone. “Maybe some other time? Shiro isn’t in a fit state to go out, and I don’t want to ruin your birthday plans by fretting over him all night.”

Keith shrugged, even though Matt couldn’t see it. “It’s fine, I understand,” trying, and almost managing, to hide the hurt from his voice. When Lance had said that this year would be different, he had actually believed the idiot. As it was, it was shaping up to be just like every year.

“I really am sorry,” Matt said, sounding truly apologetic. Some of Keith’s indignation faded.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll just hang out with Lance tonight, no biggie.”

“Alright, well, call if you need anything.” There was a brief pause, and the silence was quickly filled with the far-off sound of more puking. “Ah, shit, Shiro missed the toilet. I gotta run, Keith. Enjoy Lance.”

Keith didn’t have time to feel embarrassed at Matt’s choice of words because the line clicked dead. He frowned down at his phone, trying—and this time very much failing—to puzzle things out. Things that had been bothering him for quite some time now.

Just then, Things walked through the door, looking dead on his feet. “Fucking school,” Lance muttered, toeing out of his shoes. “Fucking job,” he said, dropping his satchel onto the floor. “Fucking mhggg.” The last word was a grumble that Keith couldn’t identify as a real, actual word, and stared in amusement at Lance as he scrubbed at his eyes, still standing on the welcome mat.

“Rough day?” Keith asked, and Lance jumped about a foot in the air.

“Fuck, mullet, don’t scare me like that.”

Keith was having too much fun with this, his disappointment with Matt and Shiro steadily ebbing away. “Never knew you as one to be easily frightened.”

“I’m not,” Lance replied defensively, his bravado weakened as Keith saw him tuck his hands into his jacket pocket, Lance’s signature tell that Keith was getting under his skin.

“Oh please, I’m sure that you wouldn’t last three minutes in a haunted house.”

Lance’s grin went from standoffish to shiteating in .2 seconds, and Keith suddenly had the sinking feeling that he had said something that was about to end in a lot of bad decisions.

“I am _not_ going out drinking with you again,” Keith said, before Lance could once more talk him into a night of regret and vomit.

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m not about to try and do that,” Lance said innocently, amping Keith’s suspicion up tenfold.

“Lance,” Keith said warningly, and Lance’s smile softened into the one that made Keith go weak at the knees.

“Kogane, it’s fine. I promise you that all I have planned is fun. It’s your birthday celebration after all.”

They held eye contact for a moment, too many thoughts and feelings running through Keith’s head. All of the ways this could go wrong. All of the things he might accidentally say if alcohol got involved once more. All of the ways this could end in the way he desperately hoped to avoid.

All of the ways this could go right.

Keith let out a slow breath. “What do you have planned?”

~~~

Shiro lay on the floor, curled up in the fetal position with his eyes shut tight. Matt sat on the rim of the counter, watching his sick boyfriend with sympathy.

“At least this way we weren’t lying to Keith about not being able to go out.”

Shiro cracked a single eye open, haziness clouding his pupil. “Yes, because this is the much better alternative,” he deadpanned, shutting his eye once more.

Matt bit back a chuckle. “Here’s to hoping that this night ends well, and we finally get a break from the pining.”

Shiro threw up into the toilet in response.

~~~

Lance was ready for Keith to put up a fight when Lance said that he was driving, but surprisingly, Keith merely shrugged and walked out the door.

He was several steps in front of Lance before the taller boy finally caught up to him. Bumping his elbow into Keith’s arm, he waited until Keith looked up at him, exasperated.

“What, Lance?”

“Why are you looking so gloomy?”

Keith didn’t answer immediately, stepping just out of reach so that their arms no longer brushed. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator on the descent that he answered. “Shiro and Matt had to cancel. With everything you said about this being a good birthday, it doesn’t feel like that so far.”

Lance felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sure they had their reasons.”

“I just thought that this would be the year,” Keith said, voice low and staring out into nowhere. Lance stepped closer, until he could meet Keith’s eyes in the elevator reflection.

“Keith, I promise you, this is going to be good.”

They held that feigned eye contact until the elevator jerked to a halt, the doors sliding open. Keith turned, violet meeting blue, and smiled. A real, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Lance.”

They stepped out, Lance vaguely hearing the tumbling down of bricks. He looked around, but the noise couldn’t be located.

Keith asked where they were going as soon as they hit the road, and Lance gave him a look. “It’s a surprise, dumbass.”

Keith scowled. “No need for names, idiot.”

“Fine, mullet.”

“Alright then,” Keith struggled for a minute, “Beyoncé,” he finished lamely.

Lance burst out laughing. “That’s a compliment, Keith, not an insult.”

“Oh, just shut up.”

Keith turned on the radio, drowning out Lance’s words. The Cuban was grateful, because his mouth had begun to take him in places he didn’t want to go. Yet.

_No. No gay thoughts, Lance. We talked about this._

Their destination wasn’t very far from the apartment and turned down the radio as soon as the brightly lit tower came into view.

“Lance…” he said slowly, the question in his voice heavy.

“Yes?” Lance replied innocently.

“Did you take me to the carnival?”

Lance could feel heat rising up on his cheeks, and firmly kept his attention on the road. “Maybe.”

Nothing else was said until they were parked, the noise of the rides and laughter permeating the air.

“You remembered,” Keith said, and Lance knew his face was as red as Keith’s bike.

He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. “You had mentioned that you’d never been, and so I figured this was probably a good celebration.”

He got out of the car before Keith could make another comment, inhaling the crisp October air and willing it to chill him out.

“Ready?” Keith asked, and Lance grinned at him.

“Let’s go.”

~~~

Keith had no idea how Lance remembered Keith saying he wanted to go. The comment had been made right after they moved in together, before they had even begun to tolerate one another. Lance had seen the article on his phone and blabbered about it excitedly. Keith had remarked that he had never been and didn’t really understand what the hubbub was all about. Lance looked at him like Keith had grown a second head, scoffing about how ridiculous Keith was. And that had been that.

Keith didn’t have time to mull over it as Lance excitedly pulled him along, dizzying scents and smells taking over his senses.

They stopped abruptly, Keith nearly tripping over his feet and smashing into Lance’s back. Lance reached out a steadying hand to catch him, and they ended up nearly nose to nose.

Lance’s face was aglow with the lights from the fair, something bright and shining in his eyes as he radiated happiness. Keith felt him heart hammer to a halt, mouth falling open just slightly.

“You okay there, man?” Lance asked.

Keith nodded, unable to form the words.

Lance released his grip, and it was like Keith was being released from a spell. _What the fuck was that_? He wasn’t attracted to Lance.

Once more, there was no time to consider anything, as Lance had recaptured his attention. “The first thing we are riding is _that_.” Keith followed to where Lance’s finger was pointing and swallowed hard.

“We’re riding the biggest rollercoaster in the park first?” he asked, voice flat.

Lance grin grew wider. “Scared?”

Keith scoffed, even though he was. “Absolutely not. Lead the way.”

~~~

They were both high off of laughter and adrenaline by the time they stumbled off of the rollercoaster for the second time.

“See,” Lance said, vaguely out of breath. “It is so much better riding in the front.”

Keith waved a hand back at him in lieu of a reply. They wandered through the fairgrounds, the smells of all of the fried and refried foods as enchanting as they were disgusting.

“I’ve never eaten a fried Oreo before, but damn, today might be the day,” Keith said, looking over his shoulder at the food stand they just passed.

Lance cringed. “I’ll never eat one of those again. Ronnie ate one when we were younger right before going on the tilt-a-whirl, and it spewed _everywhere_.” Keith gave him a disgusted look.

“Thanks for changing my mind,” He grumbled. Lance just shrugged.

They were beginning to enter into the game section of the fair, where all of the games were rigged and all of the prizes too alluring.

Keith stopped right in front of one booth, boasting a giant hippo, hanging from the top of the tent and swaying ever so gently in the breeze.

“Want to play?” Lance asked, already knowing the answer.

“Didn’t you tell me earlier all of these were rigged?”

“Yeah,” Lance said, pausing for effect. “But I know all of the secrets.”

It was one of those water cannon games, where you aimed at the target and the clown above your target rose up. Whoever got to the top first won. It didn’t seem rigged at first, but to get one of the best prizes, a bunch of people had to play, therefore lowering your chances of actually winning.

Lance waited until a few people had stalled around the booth, and then began to pay for him and Keith. Keith protested, pulling money out of his own wallet, but Lance shushed him. When three more people had joined the game, they all took their places, Lance taking time to pick the best target, and then giving it to Keith.

Standing next to him, he leaned forward and jutted his hips back, until he was nearly level with the small target. The booth runner drawled out the rules in a bored tone, and Lance listened carefully. Satisfied, he smirked over at Keith.

“Trust me, okay?”

Keith didn’t have time to respond before the bell rang, and the water guns sprang to life. Instead of aiming at his own target, Lance aimed at Keith’s, doubling the amount of water hitting the buzzer. Keith’s clown skyrocketed, leaving all of the other competitors rising at the average speed. A heartbeat later and the buzzer was going off above Keith’s clown head, a light blinking, announcing that the dark-haired boy had won.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” one of the other competitors called.

“Actually, it isn’t, since the carnie never said that it couldn’t be done.”

The offended woman looked to the carnie, as if he would take her side. The pimple faced teen shrugged. “Dude’s right, I never said it wasn’t.” He looked over at Lance. “But play fair next time dude.”

The woman grumbled, stomping off and away from the booth. Carnie dude turned to Keith. “You can pick any prize in the booth.”

“Giant hippo, please,” Keith said, and the teen pulled out a stool to get it down. Handing Keith his prize, they thanked the guy and set off once more.

The hippo was so big that Keith had trouble wrapping his arms around it, and Lance was glad he had driven; there was no way they would get that home if they were on Keith’s bike. Even with his face partially buried in the stuffed animal, Keith’s grin was enormous.

_Ah fuck_ , Lance thought, feeling his heart skip a beat. _I might need to see a doctor if these pains continue._

He could hear Pidge’s voice in his head. _There’s no love doctor, Lance_.

They stopped for food once or twice, Keith getting his face covered in pink cotton candy. Naturally, Lance chose blue.

“It just tastes better,” he had said in defense when Keith questioned his preference.

“Uh huh,” the shorter boy had replied.

They wandered until it began to grow late, Lance picking up two more prizes in the process, Keith another one of his own as well.

“How the hell are we going to get this all into the apartment?” Keith asked, laughing as Lance was handed a giant stuffed shark.

“I have no idea,” Lance said, words muffled by the armload. “Let’s drop these in my car, go on a few more rides, and then we might want to head home. It’s getting a little late.”

Keith nodded, and they peeled off towards Lance’s car. With their prizes stowed away, they wandered back into the fairgrounds, strolling much slower this time around.

“I never knew carnivals were so much fun,” Keith mused. "And you did manage to make it through a haunted house. Shockingly."

Lance smiled at him, bumping his shoulder to Keith’s. “See, I told you.”

Keith gave him a small smile back, and damn, there were those heart problems again. They were approaching a shrubbery covered arch, with lights strung up under it, so that you were walking underneath a tunnel of lights.

Lance wanted to avoid it, but Keith was beginning to walk right through it.

Keith slowed when they reached the middle, staring straight up, his neck and head craned all the way back so that he could gaze upwards at the lights.

But Lance couldn’t look away from Keith.

~~~

Keith knew Lance was watching him, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t ever seen something like this before, looking like it was a scene taken out of one of the cheesy romance films that Lance adored so much.

It gave him this tight feeling in his chest that made him want to do something reckless and romantic.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge those thoughts, when Lance caught him by the hand.

“Hey, you okay? You look a little lost.” There was a fondness in Lance’s tone that had begun to creep in over the past few weeks, acting like an archer striking Keith in the chest every time it made an appearance.

He wasn’t really sure when, or how, but he had begun to fall for this obnoxious, loud, caring roommate of his.

The lights cast a warm glow on Lance’s face, making his soft skin appear softer, his ocean blue eyes appear deeper. And Lance, fucking _Lance_ , was staring down at Keith like _that_ and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He reached up, cupping Lance’s face in his hand. Lance froze, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. Keith paused as well, as words came back to light once more. _Let me climb your walls. You don’t have to break them down, let me climb them. I want to._

“Keith,” Lance breathed, and that was enough to break his barely-there restraint. Keith leaned up at the same time as Lance leaned down, and without any influence of alcohol, Keith kissed Lance and Lance kissed him right back.

This was nothing like their first kiss, in front of a bar full of people, hot and heady and desperate. This was soft and loving, full of things too raw to be conveyed any other way. There was an ache in Keith’s core that hurt him to breathe, and he realized that it had been so long since he had been like this with anyone, that he was entirely touch starved.

Lance’s hands threaded into the mullet that he claimed to hate, tugging at the thick locks so that Keith leaned back just slightly, enough that Lance was able to deepen their kiss.

Keith felt like they were back at the top of the Ferris wheel, looking over the rim and feeling like he was falling and flying at the same time, that weightlessness that only appears in the absence of gravity. Lance had gazed up at the stars the whole time they had been on it, and Keith realized something.

Lance was his stability. Lance was the reason he hadn’t walked out of that apartment on the very first day. Anyone else, and Keith would be stuck at his terrible job or maybe halfway around the world already.

Lance was his stability.

Keith wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, but when they broke apart, both boys breathing heavily, Keith knew that he could never go back from this moment on.

They leaned their foreheads together, and Keith waited for some quip about how Keith’s oily skin was clogging Lance’s pores, but it never came.

“You’re beautiful,” Lance said, and Keith had the distinct feeling he had heard those words before. A memory played out in his mind, and he fought back a groan.

Drunk Keith knew before Sober Keith that he was in love with Lance.

_He was in love with Lance._

Lance was still staring at him like that, making Keith want to kiss him all over again.

“You’re stunning,” he said to Lance in reply, before closing the distance just enough to softly brush his lips against Lance’s mouth. Lance tightened his hold in Keith’s hair, and this time, Keith was fighting back a moan.

“Is this okay?” Keith asked, wanting to make sure that he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries. Lance’s hands were still fisted in his hair, and Keith didn’t want to take it any further until he knew they were both on the same page.

Lance huffed out a short laugh that ghosted across Keith’s nose. “Yes. This was more than okay.”

A passerby coughed pointedly behind them, and Keith watched Lance’s face turn that lovely shade of red.

They hastily stepped away from each other, and Keith missed the contact almost immediately. Lance had his hands shoved into his jacket pocket, looking up at the lights and the greenery. Keith looked around for the source of the cough and found no one.

Lance pulled a hand out of his jacket, opening his palm to reveal a handful of tickets. “I’ve got enough for a few more rides,” he said, a smile he was clearly fighting a losing battle to tugging at his lips, “we could also just go home. Save these for later.”

Keith caught Lance’s meaning and swallowed thickly. “Home works,” he replied.

Lance stretched out a hand, looking like a prince in a cheesy Disney movie, and Keith grinned at him.

Hand in hand, they walked back through the fair towards Lance’s car.

This was the happiest Keith could remember being.

~~~

Lance was still reeling from Keith kissing him under the lights, even as they neared their shared apartment. It took more self-control than Lance thought he had in order to keep his hands off of Keith and kissing the dark-haired boy senseless.

As it was, Keith had their pinkies linked while he toyed with the frayed strands of the cuff of Lance’s jacket, utterly enthralled. Their prizes were stuffed in the backseat of Lance’s car, but all Lance cared about was getting them both inside and to the private of their shared room.

At some point, they knew they realistically had to stop sharing a bed, so a second twin bed was put in along the far wall for Lance.

Something told him he wasn’t going to be sleeping there tonight.

He didn’t want to examine what it meant, the way that Keith looked at him. The way that his heart contracted when Keith kissed him, the burning sensation in his core when Keith smiled at him.

Keith was still leaving, but damn if Lance wasn’t going to live in the moment.

If he had learned one thing from his university astronomy courses, it was that at any minute, a meteor could strike the earth, or a distant star could explode, or that their own sun could do something unpredictable and fry them all. It meant living in the moment, in case any of this did unexpectedly occur.

Keith was Lance’s meteor, striking his world and sending him tumbling.

Lance shut the car off, squeezing Keith’s hand once before climbing out.

“What about our prizes?”

“We can get them in the morning.”

Keith gave Lance a look, one eyebrow arched and a devious smile twisting at his pretty mouth. “Alright,” he said finally, following Lance into the apartment building.

_Fuck, I just wanna kiss that dumb look off your face,_ Lance thought.

Keith slipped in front of him just before they reached the apartment door, reaching out to run a thumb over the dent carved from when Keith had drunkenly tried to jab his key through the door. Lance watched his movements, thinking about all of the different things those same fingers could be tracing over.

_Oh my God, Lance, chill the fuck out,_ he thought to himself. _You look desperate_.

Their apartment door swung open, and the pair stepped inside.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” Keith asked conversationally, stepping out of his shoes and shrugging out of his coat.

“Not until four,” Lance replied, doing the same. Once they had both taken off their outside wear, Lance faced Keith, who was fidgeting awkwardly.

“You’re adorable,” Lance said.

Keith blushed. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, actually, you are.”

They were slowly edging closer to one another, the proximity making Lance’s heart thump in his chest.

“Lance,” Keith said quietly, and Lance couldn’t take it anymore.

He kissed Keith, and just like under the lights, they melded against one another with Keith’s hands clinging to Lance’s shirt and Lance’s hands buried in Keith’s hair.

Lance backed them up until Keith hit the countertop, and in one smooth motion, Keith was jumping up to sit there, wrapping his legs around Lance’s waist. It was an abrupt height change, and had Lance leaning up to kiss Keith instead of leaning down.

Keith was all he knew, all that he could feel. Everything stopped and started in this moment, everything he knew began and ended right here, in this kitchen.

They broke apart, each heaving for breath, Lance’s face tucked against the dip between Keith’s shoulder and neck. Lance pressed a soft kiss on the exposed skin, and Keith shuddered.

There were no lights turned on in the apartment, so the crack of lightning outside lit up the entire living room. Both of the jumped at the thunderhead that cracked shortly after.

“Glad we got back when we did,” Keith murmured, Lance nodding his head in agreement.

Rain began to patter outside, and Lance leaned back, meeting Keith’s eyes.

“You know,” Lance said, “weather like this makes me want to just curl up in bed and snuggle something.”

Keith giggled. “You’re such a dork.”

“Hey! That was supposed to be a romantic suggestion, and you laugh at me?!” He attempted to push away from Keith. “You are the rudest person I know.”

Lance didn’t get very far with Keith’s legs still wrapped around his waist. “Oh, come back here you loveable dork and kiss me.”

Lance huffed, even as he complied. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Maybe because we have a legally binding contract?” Keith suggested against Lance’s lips, brushing a soft kiss across his mouth.

Lance didn’t reply, too wrapped up in Keith to think.

They did end up in the bedroom eventually, curled up in one another as the rain poured down. Even though it didn’t progress beyond kissing, Lance’s earlier prediction that he wouldn’t be waking in his own bed was correct.

Soft sunlight woke them up, Keith curled into Lance’s side with his nose buried in Lance’s neck.

Lance couldn’t remember a time where he had been this content. "Happy early birthday, Keith."

~~~

It was a few days later, and while they hadn’t had an actual conversation about where they stood with one another, kisses were still traded, soft, fond looks were still given, and Lance had yet to go back to his own bed.

“Your bed is just comfier,” he asserted when Keith brought it up to him.

Keith had snorted, before giving Lance’s temple a kiss. “If you say so.”

A week and a day since their carnival date, and Keith was about to head out to train with Shiro at the gym.

“I’ll be back later,” Keith said, shouldering his bag and lingering at the front door. Lance looked up from his laptop from where he was situated on the couch.

“Sounds good. I think I’m going to call Hunk and chat with him before finishing this assignment.”

Keith gave him a last smile before heading out the door, the lock clicking shut behind him. He got all the way to his motorcycle before patting down his pockets. _Where were his keys?_

Groaning, he realized he left them in the bowl in the kitchen. The same key bowl that Lance had insisted on getting, claiming that it would help them remember their keys, and not lose them around the apartment. _Looks like that backfired_ , he thought grumpily.

He approached the apartment, digging his house keys out of his pocket. He really should just keep both sets on one. Inserting the key into the lock, he recalled that Lance had mentioned being on a call with Hunk.

As quietly as he could, Keith swung open the door, so as to not interrupt Lance. Sure enough, Lance was exactly where Keith had left him, except this time he was on the phone with Hunk. Keith slowly walked into the apartment, spotting his keys immediately.

Keith was almost back out of the door when something Lance said caught his attention. “I just don’t get it, Hunk. Why does he have to leave?” Keith paused. The only time he had mentioned leaving was when they were drunk in the living room, as part of the conversation Lance claimed to forget.

“I’m sure it has to do with his mom, or him being an orphan or some shit. Apparently, his mom left when he was younger, and then his dad died right after, so he got thrown into the foster system. It’s left him with _a lot_ of issues, understandably so. One of which is that stupid wall that he puts up with everyone around. Just when I think he's starting to let me in, boom, there goes the wall right back up. I don't even know what causes it a lot of the time.” Keith felt his blood grow cold as he continued to listen to Lance.

“He just frustrates me so much, because why the hell can’t he be happy with what he has? He’s got Shiro, friends who care about him, he’s finally done with the abusive job he used to work at, and life is finally looking up for him. Why the hell isn’t he happy here?”

Keith felt like he was going to cry. He never knew that Lance felt this way.

He had heard enough. Shutting the door behind him, Keith practically ran down the hall, tears forming in his eyes as he thundered down the steps.

Swiping at his face, he tugged on his motorcycle helmet long before he even reached the parking lot, fighting the rising bile in his throat.

_Fuck Lance_.

If Lance could say those things about him, Keith no longer had any reason to stay.

Speeding away on his bike, Keith felt no more remorse about his decision to leave. He didn’t need Lance in his life, since Lance clearly didn’t need him.

~~~

Lance was pretty sure he heard something in the kitchen and paused in his rant to look over. Nothing.

“I don’t really have any room to speak, though, do I?” Lance mused. “I know exactly what it’s like to have it all and still not feel happy. Depression doesn’t really discriminate, does it. I’m being insensitive, and I know that, but I just don’t want him to leave,” he said, voice cracking. “Fuck, and he thinks I don’t even remember that conversation. I really thought that I could be there for him when he was ready to open up, so that I could climb his walls. He won’t even tell me _why_ he’s leaving. Just that he is.” A tear slipped down his face, and he didn’t bother to do anything about it.

Hunk stared at him in sympathy from the screen of his phone. “Maybe you need to tell him how you feel?”

Lance shook his head. “I can’t get my heart broken all over again. Not like this.” _Not by him_.

Hunk grimaced. “Lance, buddy, I don’t say this very often, but you’re being an idiot. You very clearly like Keith, dare I say more than you’ve ever liked anyone, and it’s not doing either one of you any good if you can’t communicate. Tell him how you feel. Otherwise, you might lose him forever.”

Lance glanced over to the door, where he thought he heard a noise earlier.

“I just want him to stay,” he said softly, both of them hearing the invisible, ‘with me’.

There was no way for Lance to know that halfway across town, Keith bought his first plane ticket, to leave a week from today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOO I'm going to attempt not to wait 9-10 months to write/upload the final chapter to this fic, but thank you to all of you who have stuck around and waited for this update. I apologize for the hiatus, it took some figuring things out to get this fic back to what I actually wanted it to be. Life gets in the way sometimes. For whatever reason, past me didn't leave any sort of outline for the final two chapters, so fuck past me. Anywho, hope this chapter wasn't too much of a rollercoaster, and if things felt weird/unnatural/awkward please let me know, and i'll do my best to fix it. I didn't end up having this chapter beta read/proof read, oops, I'll go back later and fix any errors I find. Thanks loves, and as always, kudos and comments are the best thing you can give a writer :)
> 
> ps. shout at me on:   
> tumblr: blondeslytherin  
> instagram: blondeslytherine


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds out that Keith overheard him and is leaving, and does everything he can to make things right. Or is it already too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter consistency? I don't know her. Anyways, here is the last and final chapter, enjoy lovelies!

Lance fidgeted on the couch, checking his phone for the umpteenth time for any sort of missed call or text from Keith. It was steadily nearing ten at night, and Keith had been gone since eleven this morning. It was unlike him to go without sending at least a brief message explaining where he was.

Lance huffed, running a hand through his hair. Why was he this worried? Keith could handle himself.

_Ping._

Lance practically vaulted from his position to get his phone on the other end of the short sofa.

Shiro.

_Shiro?_

He unlocked his phone, tapping on the green message icon.

**Shirogane the Brogane** : Keith is staying with us tonight.

Something deflated in Lance’s chest as he read the short message, once, and then again. There was something unusually hostile in the meticulous grammar that gave him an ugly feeling. It wasn’t over the fact that Shiro was the one texting him (the dumbass he lived with often forgot his charger and refused to use anyone else’s), but just… it was _wrong_. That was the best that Lance could describe it.

He typed out an affirmation, deleted it, typed out a new one, deleted that one as well, and finally settled for a thumbs up.

It was typical that Keith ended up over there after one of their sparring days—both men were too exhausted to move from where they crashed, which Lance could understand.

_At least there’s one thing I understand_ , he thought miserably.

He was staring at his open laptop with a half-assed essay on the mathematics of calculating star mass, something he was supposed to have learned while at the observatory, on the night he took off to celebrate with Keith.

Ah, another thing he didn’t understand: Keith.

He glanced at the time on his phone again and made the executive decision that he wasn’t going to get anything else done that ended up being usable in the morning. A storm had blown in midday, and it was too cloudy for anything useful to be done at the observatory, so Allura had given him the night off.

He looked around the living room that was slowly beginning to look more lived in, over the open bar that functioned as a breakfast counter in the kitchen, strewn with magazines and socks. A small pile of discarded clothes lay next to the TV stand, a mix of both Keith and Lance’s. Lance wasn’t entirely sure when or how those clothes had gotten there.

Even with the messiness and the minimal décor they had put in, it felt… empty. Everything felt too big in the room without Keith’s attitude filling up the cracks and seams.

It didn’t feel right.

_It’ll feel like this when Keith is gone, in oh, about two months_ , said the unhelpful voice that dwelled in the crevices of Lance’s mind.

Lance groaned. Keith still hadn’t responded, Shiro was now ignoring him, and quite truthfully, he felt like shit.

Something from earlier continued to nag at his mind, the persistent feeling that he was missing something. The longer he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, and the sicker he felt.

It was time for bed. In the morning, Keith would be back, and it would all be okay.

~~~

Lance left for classes the next morning with Keith dropping back in, attempting to shrug it off as sleeping in, or maybe breakfast with his brother.

When Lance came back, though, Keith was still gone.

_A shift at the bookstore_ , he told himself, although it sounded like a lie and tasted even worse.

Night fell for the second time and Keith _still_ wasn’t home, and Lance was officially beginning to panic. No texts, no calls, _nothing_ from Keith to indicate where he was. Shiro had given him short, clipped answers that didn’t answer anything at all, and Pidge and Hunk were next to useless as well. They were out of sorts; talking in riddles about this and that, and never giving him a straight answer. He wondered if they had another bet going.

There was a sheet of paper taped to the fridge, with a list of emergency addresses. Shiro and Matt’s place was on there, as was Hunk’s and Pidge’s, respectively. In case something ever happened, they knew where to go to find the other.

Lance considered it briefly, before turning his back and collapsing onto the couch. It was quiet, and empty, and _wrong._

Keith would be home soon enough. Right?

~~~

Wrong. Four days after Lance had last seen Keith had passed, and he was in full blown panic now. If he thought he was panicking before, he was dead wrong.

So wrong, in fact, that he was currently shaking as he drove over to Shiro’s house. It had been agreed upon that this was a last resort (no reason to go and stir up trouble, Shiro being Allura’s ex and all), but Lance couldn’t take it anymore.

Shiro would have told him if Keith was hurt, right? Or if he had gone someplace else, or something. Shiro would have said _something_ , dammit.

Lance’s fingers tapped out an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel. He was muttering swears, promises, and threats under his breath, alternating as he thought up each new reason why Keith would have been radio silent and missing.

He shouldn’t be this fucking worried, and yet, here he was, speeding and nearly getting hit by a trashcan—yes, not the other way around—all because Keith hadn’t responded in a few days.

Lance sighed, now parked in Shiro’s apartment complex parking lot, looking up at the tall building.

Now that it was here, everything seemed stupid. This whole idea, showing up here, panicking over Keith. The guy was his roommate, not his husband. They were barely even friends most of the time.

_That’s not true, and you know it._

Lance swore, low and dirty, and climbed out of his car. The October wind bit at the exposed skin on his face and neck, making him shiver. He would knock on Shiro’s door, make sure Keith was okay, and then drive right back home.

Everything was _fine_.

Lance trudged up the stairs, a sign on the elevator proclaiming it out of order, counting his steps as he went. He wasn’t really sure when or how, but he had somehow picked up the habit and couldn’t seem to break it.

“Okay, that’s 301, Shiro is in 304… ah, there it is.” Lance stopped in front of Shiro’s apartment door, fist raised to knock, when suddenly his hand faltered. It fell, the knuckles on his right hand tapping lightly against his thigh instead.

_What was he doing_?

Lance was still staring dumbly at the door, reevaluating the course of decisions that led him here, as the door swung open to reveal an annoyed Shiro.

Annoyance morphed into shock, shock morphed into outrage.

Shiro moved to close the door, but Lance stuck his foot out at the last second, catching it right before it slammed in his face, a shouted, “wait!” echoing in the hallway. The door crammed his foot painfully into the doorway, and Lance grimaced from the pain.

“What?” Shiro ground out, not bothering to open the door any farther.

“I’m looking for Keith,” Lance said, attempting to ignore the fact that he was losing feeling in two of his toes.

“He’s not here.”

“Well then where is he?”

The door violently jerked open, and there stood Shiro, arms crossed and murder in his eyes. “He doesn’t want to see you Lance.”

Lance gulped, stung by his tone and the finality in his words. But he wasn’t one to be deterred easily. It was a long drive home.

“Why not?”

Shiro snorted. “Don’t be stupid, Lance.”

“I’m not trying to be. Where’s Keith?”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t.”

“Why the fucking hell not?”

Their conversation went around in a loop like this until Shiro finally grew tired of it and tried to shut the door in Lance’s face once more.

“Shiro, please.”

Shiro paused, a half inch from the door being shut fully. “You don’t get to say something like that, Lance, and expect someone to be okay.”

“Say what?” _Too many questions, not enough answers._

“Do you really not know?” Shiro sounded a tad appalled, and Lance was more lost than he had ever been—even when he was trying to write that stupid fucking paper.

“Know what?” Lance practically shouted, fed up with the confusion and half-assed answers and uncooperating older brothers.

“He’s got Shiro, friends who care about him, he’s finally done with the abusive job he used to work at, and life is finally looking up for him. Why the hell isn’t he happy?” Shiro said mockingly, and Lance felt his body grow cold and his heart hit the floor.

_Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no._

“I did hear a click,” he murmured, unable to form proper sentences as everything unfolded around him. _How much had Keith heard?_ _Oh fuck, I fucked up._

Lance felt as the tears welled up in his eyes. He wanted to smash his face into the nearest light pole.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Lance said, and Shiro snorted in agreement. The sound he had heard while on the phone was right after…

The tears began to spill over as he was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread and guilt. His mama always told him his mouth was going to get him heartbroken, and fuck had he never wanted her to be more wrong.

“Lance?” Shiro asked, and that half inch doubled, until Lance could see a single worried eye peering out at him.

“I fucked up,” he said.

“No shit,” Shiro replied, but the fierceness had left his words.

“This is all wrong, Keith doesn’t know what he heard. Oh my god, how could I have been so stupid! He must think I’m the worst person to exist. Oh fuck, and I said all that shit about him and his mom and being an orphan and not being happy and fuck, I fucked up.” Lance was rambling, but he couldn’t help as the words came out in a tumble.

This was why Keith had been avoiding him. This was why all of his texts went unanswered, all his calls went to voicemail. All because Keith had heard something never meant for him and Lance had said too many things he didn’t really mean.

He was hiccupping now, trying and failing to fights the sobs overcoming him. Shiro must think that Lance was being dramatic, but Lance couldn’t find it in him to care.

No air filtered into his lungs, and he quaked all over.

Lance had no reason to be like this, to hurt like this. Keith was his roommate, his sometimes friends, his drinking buddy. Lance shouldn’t care.

But he did. He did because—

“I think I love him,” he choked out, and in his shock Shiro let the door swing shut. A fresh wave of pain washed over Lance at the blatant rejection but it was quickly swept away as Shiro nearly yanked the door off its hinges in his haste to open it once more.

He was wrapped up into a hug before he could even open his mouth, soaking small spots into Shiro’s shirt. “Oh no,” was all that Shiro said, and Lance was far too inclined to agree.

Shiro was the first to pull away, holding Lance at arm’s length. “Lance, what did you say?”

Lance painfully recounted how his conversation with Hunk had gone, what he had said after Keith had already left, leaving out nothing. There was no use hiding anything, at this point.

Shiro watched him carefully as he spoke, and Lance felt his hope being squashed underfoot. He sniffled when he finished his story, looking everywhere but at the man across from him. There was no blood relation between Shiro and Keith, but too many of their expressions looked the same.

“Come in,” Shiro said finally, releasing his grip on Lance and leading him inside. Lance had never been inside their apartment, and paused only a few steps in. It looked almost exactly like his own, but brighter, filled with more pictures and memories. A hallway branched off to the right where Lance and Keith’s shared bedroom was, but instead, there was a second room and a bathroom in-between.

“Huh,” muttered Lance, moving over to join Shiro from where he perched in an armchair. Taking a seat across from him, Lance fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, tugging at the loose threads.

“I’m gonna tell you a story,” Shiro said slowly, and Lance nodded. “There was a guy, once upon a time, that I was positive I was going to spend the rest of my life with,” The older man was staring into nothing etched into the opposite wall, lost in thought. “We had been roommates in college, and at first I despised the guy. He was constantly trying to one-up me in everything, and we had this dumb ‘rivalry’ going. It took me far too long to realize that I was in love with him. And even when I did, it took me even longer to actually do anything about it.”

Shiro paused, silent. A beat passed, and then another, and Lance prompted him. “What did you do?”

He chuckled. “We were having another argument over something dumb, and I was so fed up with him that I just blurted it out. Right then and there. I didn’t mean to shut him up but it certainly worked. I was so ready for everything to fall apart—the tentative friendship, the project we were partners on, the environment in the room—when he just strode over and kissed me. From there, it was perfect.” Shiro swallowed thickly, and Lance waited for him to continue.

“And then I got this offer in the mail. ‘Join the military!’. I saw it, and I just knew it was my calling. He told me not to go. I didn’t listen to him. We had a big fight, broke up. He moved out, and then I followed the military. Dated your friend Allura for a little while, trying to get my head right again.” Shiro gave him a small smile. “You know the rest.”

Lance did know the rest. “So, when you came back, Matt was still here for you? Even though he told you not to join, he eventually followed you and stayed with you.”

“His name was Adam, actually. Not Matt.” Lance blinked in confusion, feeling himself curl inward as the hollow feeling ate away his chest. He didn’t know that Shiro could be so cold; why invite Lance in only to try and convince him to give Keith up?

“Are you telling me this so that I’ll move on from Keith? Because he’s leaving and I should just let him go?”

Shiro looked at him. “Is that really what you got from that story?” Lance nodded slowly, lower lip jutting out. Shiro sighed. “Adam was the first man—no, person—I ever loved. I’ve regretted my decision ever since the day I let him leave and chose to follow my career. Yes, I met Matt, and I am happier than ever before with him. I love Matt, don’t ever doubt that. But Adam was my first love, and there are times that I still wonder what may have happened had I gone after him. Had I done what I felt was right in my heart, not my head.”

They were both silent, as Shiro was lost memories of the past and Lance dreamed for a future he could never have.

“Keith bought a plane ticket. He leaves in three days.”

Lance heard the words, and attempted to process this, but his brain and heart had had enough. Everything shut down on him, crashing all around until he could only hear the ringing in his head. The air left his chest in a whoosh. "What?" 

_Keith was leaving. Keith was leaving, and Lance was never going to see him again._

_I can’t get my heart broken all over again. Not like this. Not by him._

He thought back to the night they both claimed to forget, the way that Keith had looked under that lamppost, staring at his hands like they held the key to the universe.

“I can’t lose him,” Lance said softly.

“You know, Lance, I see a lot of myself in you. But I won’t let you be me.” Lance looked up, refusing to give into the temptation to believe Shiro. “You love him?”

“Yes,” Lance breathed, too afraid to say it any louder than that.

“Then I’m going to help you make it right.”

~~~

Apparently, Shiro had heard from Matt who heard from Pidge who heard from Hunk that Lance was out of the apartment right now, either at classes or at work, no one was really certain. They just knew he was out.

Approaching the landlord had been easy when he explained his situation, and, surprisingly, he let him out of his contract early, no major fee. It all seemed fishy to Keith, from the nervous way that the bulky man had shifted from foot to foot and the incessant way he raked his hand through his hair. But Keith was free to leave in two days’ time, and he was taking whatever he could fit into two suitcases.

He was sad that he had to leave his bed behind. Shiro was going to keep it, but there was no telling when—or if—Keith would be back. Everything else, though, he could pretty much live without. He had survived for 14 years in the foster system with only a few belongings, he could survive now that he was an adult and it was his choice to do this to himself.

It had been his plan for as long as he could remember: to leave because he chose to, not because they didn’t want him anymore. And now that it was here…

Keith sucked a hard breath in, feeling the oxygen burn away at his lungs. _It should have been easy._

Originally, it was just going to be him and the open road in front of him, stopping where he wanted and living as he pleased. But Shiro had panicked when Keith had explained it to him, and somehow, Keith had ended up with a plan for the first six months. He would be here and there, writing for a travel blog to make enough to get by, but it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was finally free.

A shudder ran through him, goosebumps breaking out along his arms. He rubbed at them, suddenly aching in his core. It was a feeling he couldn’t put his finger on, that just nagged at him. It was just…wrong.

Kicking at his suitcase with the toe of his sneaker, he sat down onto his bed with a huff.

Two days. He would be gone in two days, he would be free in two days, he wouldn’t ever see Lance again in two days.

_Lance._

Fuck.

Keith had driven hard and fast, no direction in mind as he just struggled to get away. Eventually, he had wound up at the gym, seeing Shiro in all of his distressed panic. It faded, though, when he saw Keith red-faced and teary-eyed.

It still stung to cry in front of someone else, after so many years of it being a weakness to be used against him. A sign that the other kids had found a sore enough spot that it would make him splinter entirely.

Shiro had taken him home, taken his phone so that he wouldn’t give into the impulsive urge that rumbled beneath his skin to give Lance hell, and instead made him sit and wait.

It worked.

Keith didn’t care about those pretty blue eyes, or the smile that quirked slightly to the left when Lance was particularly hesitant about something. Not even the way gentle hands had held onto his hips as Keith tentatively kissed him the morning after their carnival date, wondering if Lance was still real, if Lance was still there. _If Lance had left him like everyone else._

But it didn’t matter.

Lance was no different than everyone else in his life, wondering why he couldn’t accept what he had and _stay_ and be _here_ and _Keith why aren’t I enough?_

His breathing was growing ragged, and he hadn’t realized that he had buried shaking hands in his hair to try and ground himself. Slowly, he untangled his fingers from locks tugged too hard, wincing as one of his nails caught in a particularly thick knot.

Lance didn’t matter to him. An annoying roommate he put up with until the minute he was free to leave, and hell, actually before he was supposed to leave. Lance was no one.

He looked over at the bed on the far wall, unmade from where Lance must have stumbled out of it this morning, bedspread all askew and pillows hanging haphazardly.

Keith deserved exactly what he got in life.

~~~

“Shiro, there is no way in _ever-loving hell_ this is going to work.” Lance was on the verge of tears, frustrated beyond words.

Shiro shook his head calmly. “Lance, if I know anyone, I know my brother. This can work.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“ _Lance_.”

Lance took a shaky breath in. Shiro had placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing the shorter boy to look him in the eye. Calm radiated from the older man, and Lance was almost tempted to believe him.

“I know my brother. I know that he doesn’t run to me crying over just anyone. In just a short time, you’ve managed to get close to him, when it took him years to let me in. Lance, you’re not someone easily forgotten.”

Oh damn, there he goes, crying all over again. Shiro wrapped him back into another hug, holding him tight.

They released, and Shiro was giving Lance a small grin.

“Now, lets go and get those eggs.”

~~~

Keith took one last look at the apartment behind him, the number 124 etched into the wood. He fingered the dent in the wood from where he had jammed his key one last time, and then slipped said key under the doormat, a simple note attached to it.

And he said goodbye to the first place he ever called home.

~~~

Lance checked his watch, and then reread his latest text message.

**Hunk-a-la-Mode:** Fire has left the apartment. I repeat, Fire has left the apartment.

Lance grinned. Hunk was the best, even if he was just a bit cheesy. Suddenly, though, him and Pidge had bounced back, becoming as they usually were around Lance. He had a feeling it had something to do with a bet. _Again_.

Hunk’s text meant that Keith would be 15 minutes from Shiro’s apartment, where the first step of the plan was to occur. If Keith even bothered to accept it.

If Shiro were to be trusted, then all Lance had to do was wait.

He checked the time again.

_Soon._

~~~

Keith fell flat on his face as he tripped over something right smack in the middle of where he was walking.

His arms sprawled out in front of him in a desperate attempt to catch himself, and it might have worked, had it not been for the two heavy suitcases in either hand. Him, both bags, and whatever he tripped over all landed in a heap on the ground.

Swearing, low and filthy, he rolled off the fuckass object, already promising to destroy whatever it was. Something about the apartment had put him in a bad mood, and he didn’t feel like making his day worse.

A simple package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a coarse string, slightly crushed from when he landed on it. One of the edges was pushed in, and Keith stared at it.

It wasn’t something Matt would have done, the risk of Shiro having a bad reaction was too high for something like this. Shiro wouldn’t have done it either, it wasn’t his style.

But he was in their apartment, so who the hell else could it have been for?

Gingerly picking it up, he noticed a scrawled name in the pushed in corner, smushed letters becoming indecipherable in the shadows and creases. He flattened it out until he could read it and frowned when he did.

It was his name. His name, and ‘open me’, written in the same handwriting.

Keith glanced around the empty apartment, waiting for the sender to materialize out of the shadows and scare him. When nothing appeared, he tugs at the string. It unravels easily, the bow falling away and the brown paper puffing up slightly with the released pressure of the wrapping.

He checked once more, making sure that this wasn’t somehow an elaborate prank, and carefully unwrapped the rest of the package.

Inside, there was a map, a picture frame flipped so that only the back showed initially, and a receipt.

_A receipt_? Of all of the items, this was what confused him the most. The same handwriting was at the bottom of it, and he decided that it was going to be the last thing he dealt with.

Instead, he unfolded the map, looking at it. It was of their city, a plain blue-and-green map that highlighted different locations. A restaurant, the fair on the outskirts of town, various other little places. Nothing was marked, and there were no scrawled words on this item.

Next, the picture frame. He flipped it over, only to find a photo, taken of him and Shiro laughing. His heart warmed when he saw it. It was the photo Shiro claimed was his favorite, taken by Matt right after Shiro had cracked a dad joke about Keith getting accepted into the flight program. He had ended up dropping out a few months later, but in that moment…

Nothing on this. That only left the receipt.

It was a receipt for a restaurant, and the warm feeling dissipated instantly. _Quintessence_ was written in the fancy cursive that Lot-whore absolutely _insisted_ on, the same font that Keith had grown to hate.

He curled his lip in disgust and was very near to crumpling the receipt when he made the last-minute decision to actually read it.

_Come to the first place we ever met, from the moment I knew you were special_. He pondered it for a minute, and then felt his mood sink even lower as the connection was made. _Quintessence_ was the first place that Matt and Shiro had met, well, outside of the military. Keith never knew why they chose to attribute it to that specific place. _Or was it someone else?_. Either way, this was something for them.

It left him wondering why his name was still on the package, but it didn’t really matter. He would go to the restaurant, drop off the package, and come back here to finish packing up his life.

Typing out a quick message to Shiro, and then deleting it (he didn’t want to be the reason some surprise was spoiled), he picked himself back up off the floor. It was only a quick, half-hour excursion, it wouldn’t be too horrible. And the weather hadn’t gotten to the point where the wind made a ride on his motorcycle miserable. At least, not quite yet.

Tucking everything under his arm, he made the trek back downstairs, out to his bike, and paused only long enough to place the parcel securely in his motorcycle bag. Didn’t want to lose that.

His former place of work came into view soon enough, the bile rising in his throat and his nose wrinkling in disdain. He never wanted to be back here. Keith parked, pausing.

Scanning the area, he searched for either Matt or Shiro. _Not outside_ , he thought, checking both ways before crossing the street on foot.

The restaurant inside was mainly empty as well, Lotor nowhere to be found. The mere essence of the taller man was enough to set his nerve endings on edge.

Still nothing inside, either.

He was about to leave when Thace came out, holding a brown package identical to the one tucked under his arm.

Thace grinned. “Why didn’t you tell me you had someone special in your life?”

Keith frowned. Shiro was certainly special, but not in the way that Thace was implying. And Thace knew about Shiro already.

He accepted the new package from the outstretched hands, not bothering to question it. Apparently, he was playing messenger today. Not wanting to chance whatever was in the package embarrassing him, he took it outside and waited until he was straddling his bike to open it. _God, I hope it’s not a bomb._

Another picture frame, but the other two objects were different. For one, there was a sticker in the shape of a heart, and the receipt had been replaced by a newspaper clipping.

He took the photo out first. It was another one he recognized; Shiro had taken this as Keith was on the phone with the realtor, the quiet surprise etched into the lines of his forehead, mouth hanging open ever so slightly, shocked with the news that he would have his own place for the first time.

_Odd photo choices_ , he thought.

He examined the newspaper clipping next, startled surprise drawing his brows high. It was a listing for the apartment he used to share with him, a small date marking it two days before he signed the lease. The address was circled in black sharpie, and words bled through from the other side. Flipping it, he found another note written.

_I lied before, this is where I actually attribute us meeting. Come back to the moment I knew you mattered to me._

He didn’t want to connect the dots. Didn’t want to believe anything other than that these packages were for Shiro and Matt, that this was not from who he thought it was, that this meant nothing to him.

Instead, he found himself speeding away on his motorcycle to location number three.

~~~

**Tall Pidge** : Keith has left location two, I repeat, Keith has left location two with the package

**Lancey-Pants** : what’s up with all of the spy lingo??

~~~

Keith spent the entire drive flipping back and forth about his opinion on the situation. His rational mind said that there was no way that this was for him, and even if it was, it was an elaborate set-up that was only going to end in disappointment and heartbreak, and it was entirely a waste of time.

He didn’t want to share the other half of his mind.

The apartment complex came into view, and he did his best to shut down both halves of his head, attempting to approach the situation with as much neutrality as possible.

He tugged at the handle, once, twice, before remembering that he had turned in all of his keys and key fobs to the landlord.

_Whelp_. Looks like that decision got made for him.

He was about to walk away, when out popped Allura, looking flushed and bright eyed. “Hello there!” she exclaimed, nearly giving him a heart attack.

“Fuck,” he breathed, a hand over where his heart had momentarily stopped. She clambered out from inside the bush she had been inside of (mental note: ask Shiro more about Allura), holding another one of the packages.

“We figured you might not get back into the building, so I offered to hold this. There’s a duplicate upstairs, just in case. We were going for as limited interaction as possible.”

Keith eyed the package. She kept using the term “we”. How much planning had gone into… whatever this was?

She shook it at him a little, urging him to take it.

The rational side of his mind won. He began to back away, spinning on his heel. “I’m not doing this. I don’t care if Lance put you up to this, I want nothing to do with his ass.”

He could hear as the branches of the bush rattled a bit more as she struggled to follow him. “Keith, wait.”

And then the rational side of his brain lost. Against his better judgement, he halted, but didn’t turn around. Allura rounded him, her bright expression dampened but determined.

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so I can’t say much.” Keith opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. “But what I can say, is that there would be no reason for any of this if someone didn’t care about you. You might have a different idea in mind, I can only imagine, but Keith…” she trailed off, dark eyes sympathetic.

Wordlessly, he took the package, and they stared at each other a minute more. “The stickers go on the map,” she said at last, gave him a final nod, and stepped away from him. It was a signal for him to keep moving, and as much as he wanted to hurl the package as far away from him as he could, something kept it in his hands, by him.

The same something that he didn’t want to admit was winning the current war inside of him.

The package had roughly the same contents. Another photo, another sticker, another location with a note attached.

And every damn time, he followed the fucking instructions.

With every package, he grew more and more agitated. There was no point in this whole treasure hunt. None at all. If Lance wanted to talk to him, he shouldn’t have done all of this elaborate shit. In fact, Lance shouldn’t have done _anything_. Lance didn’t care.

Not about him.

_Not the way Keith wanted him to._

The pictures grew more and more aching as he looked at them. A photo he didn’t realize had been taken at the night of the bar truth or dare, a sneaked picture from the first time he and Lance had a real memory together.

So many memories. So many things they had done together, in the brief time that they had known one another.

It hurt to look at it all, and still know that he was leaving.

Initially, he had thought every package but the first had a heart sticker, but upon further inspection, they all had one. Using what Allura had told him, he placed a sticker on each location that he received a brown paper gift from.

_How many locations were there_? It didn’t seem like there way any figure being made, and he had almost nine packages now.

His latest note read: _to you. I’m sure you know it’s me by now, but just in case you don’t and you’re still surprised, go to the spot where you nearly dropped the eggs, and where I took this photo._

He turned over the latest picture frame, his breath catching. He knew this moment.

Keith refused to hope, refused to believe. All of it still felt like a prank, like an elaborate trick to tell him that he still isn’t good enough.

Lance didn’t care enough to do this for him.

He held the photo, the weight heavier than it should be in his palm, considering, not daring to wonder what this all really meant.

If he were smart, he would turn around now, go back to Shiro’s place and forget that he ever met Lance. If he were smart, he would smash the photo on the ground and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

If he were smart, he would have never fallen for Lance in the first place.

Something tentative and barely there was starting to form in the pit of his stomach, and he was too scared to put a name on it.

He drove slowly now, dusk beginning to turn the sky a softer shade of indigo. He knew where the photo was guiding him to, but did he want to do, to take that risk?

_Lance hurt you_ , Keith reminded himself.

As the location came into view, Keith’s heart was hammering in his chest to the point where it hurt.

_Would Lance even be here_?

He didn’t know which answer he preferred.

It didn’t matter, though, because when he drove up, Lance wasn’t there. He wasn’t under the lamppost that was pictured, another photo Lance had taken unbeknownst to Keith. In the photo, Keith was staring at his palms in wonder, the streetlight above him casting light onto his dark hair, with much of his face hidden from view.

It was the moment he realized he was in love with Lance.

But now here he stood, waiting, wondering. He was a few feet away from the indicated spot, but close enough that he could see that there wasn’t anything there. No Lance, no package, nothing.

Keith’s lower lip trembled. His feet moved almost against his will, propelling him closer and closer to the precipice that was the space under the light.

_There has to be a note, there has to be something here._

_Lance wouldn’t do that to me._

Shaking fingers grazed the uneven surface of the post, as if searching for initials carved in by a lover’s pocket knife, as if searching for the indent from a key.

All that came away was grime and pain.

It was no longer just his lower lip that was trembling. He was shaking, as much as he tried to fight it.

_Fuck it all._

The picture frame slipped from his fingers, the glass distantly breaking. He couldn’t hear it, didn’t care.

_Fuck it all._

_He deserved everything he got in life._

Too wrapped up inside his own head, he didn’t hear the person approaching from behind under a single finger tapped him on the shoulder. Keith whipped around, reaching out and grabbing the wrist of the offender before reason and rationality could catch up with him.

Fingers wrapped tightly around a tan wrist, it took a considerable amount of strength for Keith too look up from where he was gripping to meet the eyes attached to the appendage. His grip loosened as he met the pools of blue ocean he was starting to drown in.

“Omelets?” Lance asked, softly, shakily. A carton of eggs was held in his other hand, visible in Keith’s peripheral, but that was as far from his focus as the state of the photo.

Keith just stared at him as Lance began to fidget.

“Please say something,” Lance said, in the same tone. His fingers were twitching on the hand that Keith still had in a loose grip, Lance’s pulse jackhammering under his finger pads.

“I’m not the one that needs to say something,” Keith replied, words coming out harder and more jagged than he wanted.

Lance swallowed audibly, barely breathing, words coming out in a hush. “We told the guy that night, the guy who sold us the eggs so we could egg _Quintessence,_ that we were making omelets.”

It was not the set of words that Keith expected to come out of Lance’s mouth. Keith remained silent, waiting to see if Lance was going to say anything else. When he didn’t, Keith began to pull away.

Thin fingers were circling his wrist now, a flipped move that Keith hadn’t seen coming. “Lance,” Keith said in a warning tone, and Lance only shook his head, watching where Keith stilled in his grip.

They were in a standoff, neither moving, neither speaking. Keith broke the silence first. “Why?”

Lance looked up, ocean blue meeting violent violet. “I need— Keith, please.” His voice was faltering now, but with every passing word, Keith’s resolve strengthened. _This whole mess had been a waste of time. I should have ignored that stupid package, I should have ignored all of them._

Until a single word broke it all away. “Stay.”

“Lance—”

“Or don’t, actually. You don’t have to stay here. I just need you to stay with me.” Something in his face shifted, that nervous coloring appearing. “Yeah, I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, barely any time at all, but I just know. I can’t forget you, no matter how hard I try. I can’t get you out of my head. Call me foolish, call me naïve, whatever you want to call me, as long as I can call you mine.”

Keith swallowed thickly. “How—?”

“Shiro helped. I know I constantly complain about being a broke college student, but he helped me put it all together. I know you, and I know you don’t want big romantic gestures or anything, but I had to do _something_.” The words were bubbling forth from his lips, a verbal tap that Lance didn’t seem to be able to turn off. Keith turned it off for him, placing a palm over his mouth. Lance froze, whatever he had been saying dying on his tongue.

And the words that had been on Keith’s tongue since the day he walked out slipped by his guard. “Why did you say it? Did you mean it?”

He could feel the panic radiating off of Lance and took his hand slowly away from his mouth.

A deep breath. “It’s so much easier to push people away, than let them too close, and that was me pushing you away, outside of my walls, because I care about you so much that it hurts.”

After a beat had passed, Keith said, “Three months, eight days,”

“What?”

“That’s how long we’ve known each other. Three months, eight days, since I met you at the café for the first time. Three months, eight days, since I decided that…” Keith trailed off, unable to voice the words in his head.

Lance understood, though. Lance always seemed to understand.

“It will take a lot, there’s nothing figured out, but I would follow you anywhere. I’d find some way to make work doable, I’d take a semester off of school. Whatever it is, I’d follow you, Keith. Please, just let me climb your walls.”

They were both shivering now, dusk giving away to night, the late fall air chilling them. It was almost too much for Keith.

“Lance,” he said, as if it was the only word he knew.

Lance took the hint, leaning in slowly, eyes flicking up and down from his eyes to his mouth, making sure that this was what Keith wanted, before capturing Keith’s mouth with his own.

It was only a kiss, a kiss after too many broken words and promises, but it told him that things might just be okay.

~~~

**Three years, nine months later**

Keith held the keys in his palm, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“C’mon, babe,” Lance prompted gently. “You know how keys work.”

Keith shot him a look, before slipping the door key from his palm into the gap between his fingers, sliding it into the lock and opening the door.

Slowly, the door creaked open, and the pair stood in the doorway, taking it all in.

“Are we still technically roommates?” Lance asked after a moment, a shit-eating smile coating his words.

Keith shoved an elbow into his side. “Oh, shut up,” a smile tugging at his lips as well.

They stepped in together, and Keith had a flashback to the last time they had been in this situation.

In three years, they had travelled the world, only after they had lived for another year in their current apartment, waiting for Lance to finish school. In that time, Keith had realized that he didn’t have to keep moving, and that finally, for the first time, he had found a place to call home.

His fiancé was tugging him over to the counter top, and Keith trailed after him.

Lance, suddenly shy, bit his lip before turning to face Keith once more. “Do you mind if I put up a picture?”

Keith stared bemusedly at him. “Of course, why would I mind?”

Lance shrugged, still hiding something, before pulling a small frame out of his pocket. In it, a photo that had been taken unbeknownst to both of them, under the streetlight once more, the eggs falling from Lance’s hand, with his left fingers still wrapped around Keith’s wrist. Both of their faces were screwed up, Keith curving into Lance as a single tear slid down Lance’s face. Shiro had taken it, and Keith had never been more grateful to have a moment captured.

Keith squeezed Lance’s hand, his chest swelling.

Lance swooped down to kiss Keith, and Keith melted into him.

He hadn’t only found a roommate, he had found a home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is here! Holy shit.  
> Nearly 10 months since I first began this project, and I am finally finishing it. What a trip. School had ended up getting the better of me, but the whole time, I thought about how much I wanted to get back to this and finish it. It took some time, but here we are.  
> A huge, mega huge thank you to all of you who have stuck with this, who have subscribed and commented and given me the motivation to actually finish this thing. Initially, I had a different idea in mind of where this was going, and it is actually in the opposite direction of where I first started, back in the brainstorming days. I'm not sure I'm entirely content with how this story ended up unfolding, and I wish I hadn't taken such a large hiatus, but that's just how life can be. Overall, I enjoyed writing it, and I think that it needed to be written the way that it was, and I think that hiatus made the story into something better than originally planned.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you, one more time. Much of this story would not have been possible without a lovely friend of mine, convincing me to keep writing and helping me with the plot. 
> 
> I've got a new project in mind, so stay tuned ;) 
> 
> Have a prompt you want to see written? Think my grammar sucks and needs work?  
> Come shout at me at:  
> tumblr: blondeslytherin  
> insta: blondeslytherine

**Author's Note:**

> Jeez I hate this system. My computer crashed, and I lost like all the work I had done in a half an hour. Wtf AO3. Wtf. And by work i mean the half hour i spent trying to do tags and formatting, so not anything like major. But i'm back! I picked up with school again (ugh) so I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I will try my very best to update frequently. Also, i did not spend very long editing this so please feel free to shout at me in the comments if you find something that needs to be fixed. So yeah, I also feel like an explanation is needed for where tf this fic came from. So basically I was reading another fic, and was like "how can you spin a cliche" and boom this baby was born. Also, yeah, the title is in fact from the vine which i did not realize until a friend pointed it out to me and i realized that i am, in fact, an idiot.  
> Feel free to holler at me to update sooner, tell me if you hated it, or even if you loved it, @@@@:  
> tumblr: blondeslytherin  
> instagram: aesthetically_bookish


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